Noctuary
by Colorful Crayola
Summary: A collection of one-shots that take place in The Noctivagant Series. Features characters and events from series stories Phantasm, Vespertine, and Nightmare. Most are canon, some aren't. Joke chapters and chapters from other points of view are featured. See individual chapters for short summaries and ratings of the one-shots published in this collection.
1. Saboteur

**Hello, readers!**

 **This is a compilation of one-shots centering around Nichole and the other characters of The Noctivagant Series - yes, you read that right! Nichole's misadventures now have a series name. Phantasm, Nightmare, and Vespertine are all part of it, and any future installations will be, to. :) Just a few things to mention and clarify before we get into it, so please forgive the nitty-gritty details real quick!**

 **These one-shots are from VARIOUS points of view. Some will be in the first person, some will be in the third person. They can be about any character or event within the series, but I'll always label them. The stories are subject to be reordered as I come up with new ones so that there's some sort of chronological order, so bear with me. They're also going to be pretty rough and unfinished, as I plan on writing these quick and dirty with minimal editing so I can focus on other projects. However, feel free to point out any huge issues. I am always open to going back and cleaning up my work!**

 **If you have ideas for a one-shot you'd like to see, feel free to post it in a review or PM me!**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **This chapter has been edited as of 6/3/2018! Thank you, Malevolent Reverie,** **for bringing it to my attention! I'm sorry you felt the need to block me, but I'm nothing if not reasonable. Hopefully, the chapter is more readable now! If not, feel free to be more specific next time on what needs to be fixed. :)**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Saboteur

Takes place before the ship crashes in the woods of Nichole's hometown. Rated T, mild violence.

* * *

The mountainous, charred surface of the planet was still. A ship sat nestled on the ground, sequestered behind a pillar of stone. All was quiet. The dark horizon was beginning to lighten, but the rising star was hours away yet from daybreak.

High above the ship, a precarious cliff shook and rained small pebbles down upon the hull. Something rumbled just below the rocks and crags in an intricate network of tunnels forged by the native species. An infestation had broken out, their population devastated. One lone yautja traversed the underground, closing in on parasitic hive's queen; the absolute darkness was of little consequence for predator and prey alike.

She was the last of the _kiande amedha_ , the strongest and largest. Her head would bring him the ranking of elite.

If there were any of her children left, they would come to her aid. Her screeches of anger echoed through the burrows, calling forth any who could hear her distress. She knew her death was coming, but she was loathe to detach from her egg sack.

For each of her children that had been cut down, it was like she had taken the blows herself. She felt their deaths; she mourned their loss. After she had taken up the distress call, what was left of the drones had met it with their own keening replies—only to be snuffed out as the yautja hunter found them.

It was important he made sure the entire swarm was wiped out—not just because it was part of his quest: were he to leave the _kiande amedha_ unchecked, leave even one survivor, they would breed and breed forever. Their population would wreak havoc on any planet they found, destroying entire ecosystems. They would eradicate all life. That was not the goal of the yautja race. They only needed a single nest to complete the trial. One colony of the local life forms wouldn't be an issue. Eventually, their numbers would return even if it took a few generations.

When the lone hunter finally reached the threshold of the queen's hideaway, her calls stopped.

Her chamber was the largest cave in the warren. Like the rest of the tunnels, the nesting process had turned everything humid and dank. The queen turned her crested, sightless head toward him as she drew her lips over her dirty, chrome-colored fangs and she hissed at the intruder. Her ovipositor pulsated behind her, weighing her down and keeping her stationary. The yautja had to find a way to pull her off it. He had to show that he was a big enough threat to warrant her abandoning her duty.

His opportunity arrived seconds later—what remained of the queen's children. They thundered from the tunnel and into the chamber: three large beasts. Their elongated, eyeless crowns swung back and forth in an attempt to find the one causing their queen to suffer. Their kind didn't show up on in infrared, but the hunter had more than one way of spotting _kiande amedha._

The lone yautja drew his spear and sighted his plasma caster. His enemies sent out pulses of sound, listening and watching.

 _Kiande amedha_ were the perfect killing machines. From reproduction to birth to death. They stole what they wanted and took without care, wiping out species and races with wanton abandon. Parasitic at heart, they needed hosts to breed. The implanter struck without notice, forcing an embryo upon their victim orally. Birth, of course, killed the host. In adulthood, drones collected other bodies to further the hive.

And the subterranean species on the planet were the perfect bearers.

Large and powerful. Blind, just like the _kiande amedha._ They made their way around via echolocation and vibrations felt through the ground. Though the inhabitants of the planet were not innately aggressive or violent, they had natural defenses in their strong pincers and massive claws, made for digging the very tunnels they lived in.

Together, it made for more perfect _kiande amedha._ Each drone was nearly the size of their queen. Their biomechanical physiology was thick and imposing, making them take up much of the tunnel space. They were armed with large front legs, small back legs, and a sweeping tail tipped with a wicked barb.

Alone, they were formidable. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with. Thus far, the structure of the burrows had granted him the luck of fighting one at a time.

In the queen's chamber, they could come at him in tandem.

They turned on him and roared, their large claws crushing stones beneath their weight. As one unit, they rushed him, each step shaking the ground. The yautja didn't falter and fired a single blast. The lead _kiande amedha_ ducked its head and the cannon fire hit its broad, armored carapace, taking a chunk with it. Another trait from their unwitting hosts, meant to protect from falling boulders and debris while tunneling.

The yautja's fingers flexed and he chittered to himself, excited at the prospect of another great fight. Of the coming glory.

*:･ﾟ✧

Black had always been its life. Black would always be its life. But from the darkness was intermitted bursts of sensation—sound, scents, things that had no words. Despite never knowing what a thing looked like, it knew it was there. Everything had a signature, an aura, a scent or a sound that was its own.

Everything had a mass that took up space, and the sound waves the creature emitted bounced off, creating a picture with which it could "see".

But for all the different senses, none could make it reach its queen any faster.

Being buried in a collapsed tunnel hadn't seemed like a possibility. So many ways to dig and burrow, and yet a single injury to its powerful forearms had left it unable to free itself until it was too late.

Being unable to answer its queen's pleas broke something inside the creature and it limped its way through the halls, trying to navigate through cave-ins and mazes. She had fallen silent, but it was more than the lack of sound. It was an emptiness in the drone's mind, as if something essential had been removed. A constant chatter from the rest of the hive—no orders from the queen, no feedback from its brethren.

They did not know fear or uncertainty, but without the buzz of the queen in its head, it knew not what to do except find the one responsible.

Sound ricocheted off the walls, leading it through the tunnels without issue to the queen's chamber. So many brethren lost, and now the hunter that had stalked them stole away its queen, the one that gave life and orders. The thing that the _kiande amedha_ listened to without hesitation and protected.

Inside the queen's cave was nothing but bodies. There were no sounds, only the distinct weight of death and muted scent of burning stone.

Her massive corpse was limp in the center of the cave. The injured drone approached, tentative and slow. It sent out a single pulse of sound to make sure that it wasn't mistaken, but there was no mistaking it—her head was gone.

Its talons forged rivets into the ground. It swung its head around to the tunnel the hunter had gone down and followed after him, using small bursts of sound only to navigate, trying not to alert the hunter to the fact that he was now being stalked. It was behind him, limping fast to keep up and not lose the trail, but the hunter left behind a smoking trail of acid blood from the queen's severed neck.

Breadcrumbs.

The _kiande amedha_ drone dug its claws into the loamy earth beneath it, fangs bared behind a set of pincers as it stalked the hunter. The urge to tear after the one responsible was strong, and ignoring it was like ignoring a basic function—eating, breathing—but such rash behavior would only lead to its death. It was wounded from another fight, left and assumed dead.

If it died now, the destruction of the hive and the murder of its queen would never be rectified. The _kiande amedha_ would never see justice for their extermination.

He was headed to the surface, toward a tunnel his ship had created. The native creatures of the planet rarely moved above ground, content to live their lives out in darkness and caves. Daytime meant certain death, and night brought about a freeze. The only safe time to move topside was just before the sun rose and after it set, when the air was warm and safe.

Even then, there was nothing topside worth seeing.

Only plateaus, cliffs, boulders, and mountains. No vegetation. No other life. Everything happened beneath.

The hunter's ship had spent the course of the hunt in orbit, landing just as the sun started to rise in anticipation of the lone yautja's arrival.

At the same time the hunter was preparing to leave, the injured drone was crawling up onto the surface. Once there, it let out a few pulses of sound, looking for anything that didn't belong. For something besides the formations of the mountains.

And there it was.

It pulled itself out of the hole and skirted close to the cliff side, using the natural cover to stalk the ship. When the rumbling started, the warrior was bombarded with vibrations and pictures for miles, the terrain painted into a near-perfect picture. It was able to navigate without problems to the target.

Had the yautja inside not assumed there wasn't anything living outside, he might have noticed the approaching threat. He might have noticed it climb into a nook near the landing gear. Still and all, the ship took flight with one extra passenger.

There was no way inside the ship from the landing gear, but the warrior was wedged in good. The vacuum of space pressed down upon it, a suffocating weight. Unending cold nipped at it, sapped its strength and sent it into a torpid state. Vitals slowed, its bodily functions all but stopped.

Yet, it lived on. Festering in vengeance.

*:･ﾟ✧

The transport ship landed in the docking bay of the mother ship, carrying its passenger. The yautja hunter hauled his trophy to the rest of the clan, to be celebrated as the newest elite. The warrior _kiande amedha_ remained in its position, stuck in the landing gear as it thawed. As it healed and came around.

For the yautja, the hunt never ended. Other clan members were eager to begin their own trials. It was time to visit another hunting ground, one home to a sapient species, not unlike their own. Home to proud fighters and honorable trophies.

Inside, the atmosphere of the ship was warm and welcoming. Humid. Perfect. The air was different from the dry planet it was accustomed to, and it took time to adjust, furthering the time it spent in its comatose state. Around it, the massive clan ship was still, sailing through space toward its backwater destination. Its inhabitants were none the wiser to the danger recovering just under their noses.

Eventually, it came around and stirred a full solar cycle after the ship had left. The injury to its legs had mended, and it was fully acclimated to the new environment. Waking up took a few moments, but it was making its way.

Vibrations were all around it. Various sounds of the ship working, driving. The clan members of the vessel walked outside the loading bay, adding to the din. All of this roused its attention.

With some wiggling and twisting, it was able to dislodge itself from the cranny it had forced into and fell to the hard floor. It thrashed until it was back on its talons. A few loud echoes gave it an idea of where it was, and left over pheromones from his queen led the warrior to a closed door.

There were no ideas about being subtle. No deliberation or higher cognitive thought. Only anger and hate and the need for revenge.

Before it could bust down the door, it started to slide open and the warrior skittered out of line of sight, waiting until the hunter on the other side walked inside and closed himself in, checking on a strange reading it had witnessed.

 _Kiande amedha_ were ambush predators innately. It was able to sit still as a statue and wait for the perfect moment. The yautja was not wearing its biomask, thinking himself safe on the flag ship. Even if the drone didn't stay still, he wouldn't have seen it. It took full advantage of the element of surprise and lunged, striking the yautja out cold before it could so much as let out a surprised chitter.

One yautja. One stored embryo. The warrior latched on to the unconscious predator and deposited its precious burden, then hauled him off under the ship, stowing him for later. It would take a while for the embryo to gestate and then grow. The newborn would need to be protected.

It went to work, secreting its viscous saliva and coating everything in the landing bay. It created a suitable site and cocooned the yautja against the wall.

Then, again, all it could do was wait. Wait and work, turning the giant room into the perfect nesting sight. The entirety of the ship was the perfect humidity, but venturing forth was out of the question for now. The _kiande amedha_ drone wasn't comfortable leaving the unborn creature.

But it could wait as long as it needed to.

*:･ﾟ✧

He should have returned within moments, but it wasn't until much later that the others realized one of their own was still gone. The victimized yautja had informed his comrades that he would investigate the strange reading the scanner had picked up. It wasn't uncommon for local fauna to wander aboard sometimes, but the planet had no surface dwellers.

And yet, the ship diagnostics had picked up a signature.

The clan leader ordered two others to go and see what was keeping him. They joked about him getting lost within the ship until they reached the loading bay. With a few swipes of a finger, the door opened into a dark and sweltering room.

A screech welcomed them and a massive beast charged from within, slamming into the closest yautja and sending him sprawling. His comrade roared and went to draw a weapon, but had hadn't fully armed himself. None would be carrying many weapons while they were on the ship. Not when they thought they were safe.

Before he could find so much as a dagger, the _kiande amedha_ drone struck out with its tail and stabbed it through the yautja's abdomen. With another flick, it threw him down the hall and he landed hard on his back. The one beneath the _kiande amedha_ snarled in the face of death.

All it took was one quick jab from the beast's second set of jaws and the yautja's skull was pierced. He fell still and the warrior lunged for the other, ensuring he, too, was dead.

Not before he was able to issue an alarm.

The wailing sound of klaxons brought life to the _kiande amedha_ 's otherwise dark world. The sound vibrated off of every last nook and cranny. The drone lifted its head, trying to sift through the noise and clutter.

Footsteps. Others were coming.

It glanced over to the unmoving body of the yautja against the wall. It had taken hours for them to realize their comrade was missing. The growing newborn was hidden in the carefully crafted nest, growing quickly and feeding from the body of its host as needed.

Soon it would grow strong and help create a new caste.

But, it would not be able to protect the newborn if more and more of the hunters arrived. The drone left, shoving through the doorway and bending it outward until it popped free into the hallway. It would meet the opposition head on.

Most of the halls were too small for its bulk. Its back slammed into the ceiling, its shoulders dented the walls as it careened through the corridors, using echolocation to navigate and seek out other hunters. It ripped panels down with angry claws and burst into rooms, attacking anything alive within.

Wires snapped and sparked in its wake. It destroyed handfuls of machinery and panels. Soon, the ship was hurtling toward its destination, the guidance systems taken out with a few lucky tail strikes from the beast and unlucky cannon shots from the yautja. Try as it might, the ship couldn't correct speed or course.

It entered the atmosphere of its intended destination and shuddered, sending those inside tumbling and rolling. Without stabilizers functional, the gravitational pull of the planet took it down at alarming speeds. The drone was tossed into an open room, buried under machinery.

Such wouldn't be enough to kill it. It was nothing compared to two tons of rock and dirt.

Mere moments after its entry into the atmosphere, the ship jerked and shuddered. Its impact with the ground nearly snapped the ship in half and it skidded across the ground, jumping up a hill where it landed at the crest, only to slide further until friction brought it to a halt.

Outside, the night fell still. Any creature within the area of the crash had been chased away. Shattered and broken pieces of hull littered the ground and nothing moved inside the ship, not even the drone. Not any of the yautja. The growing newborn was the only thing that had been secured and safe.

Finally, it was ready. _She_ was ready.

Thin, membranous mandibles spread open wide and she crawled from her perch. As the future queen, the continuation of the hive was her responsibility.

Fresh air filtered in through a dent in the bay doors. She hissed and crawled toward the opening, squeezing through. The crash had drawn the attention of local authorities, and the first responding park rangers were on their way. She, of course, only had one objective.

 _Find hosts._

So, she ventured outside into the cold, alien world and listened. She waited for signs of danger, then wandered out into the trees. She explored until the group of park rangers came across her path. The future queen took them one by one until all seven were unconscious and impregnated. One by one she took them back to the ship, and one by one she made them comfortable in their own cocoons.

It was a start, but anything more would have to wait. She needed to rest. She needed to finish growing.

After a while, the drone came to deep within the ship, and by the time the sun began to rise, the newborns were growing up and the queen had metamorphosed into her genetically pure form. Soon enough, her ovipositor was formed and she was producing eggs.

All of seven of the newborns, fully grown by now, lined up before her, and she gave them their orders.

 _More._

 _More, more, more._


	2. Almost

**Hello, readers!**

 **Here's an odd one, from Nichole's sister's point of view! I just thought it would be a neat addition, and it was pretty quick to write. I don't like to cheat and only release edited chapters every month, so I wanted to write at least one new chapter for one of my stories, and this one popped into my head so here it is. Been having a rough week, so I guess I'm kind of a day late, maybe? I don't know. Enjoy, anyway! It's a little rough around the edges but probably still entertaining maybe.**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Almost

Kristie and her friend try to sneak into the woods but are too late—and lucky. Rated T.

* * *

"Your mom was ok with you coming over for the night?"

"I mean, I'm here aren't I?"

Kristie's friend raised her hands defensively. "Just don't want a repeat of last month. I never want to get shouted at like that ever again. Shit was cray."

Shaking her head, Kristie said, "I learned my lesson and made sure to ask permission this time."

"Promise?"

"God, yes! Did you invite me over just to drill me?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "No, sorry. I just wanted to double check that no one would be calling my mom for you tonight," she said.

"Why?" Kristie asked, nearly dropping her phone on her face as she adjusted her grip.

After glancing at her door to her closed room, Allison inched closer to Kristie. Licking her lips, she grinned and opened her mouth to say something. Kristie, however, leaned away with her brow furrowed and said, "Okay, I do _not_ swing that way."

"What? No! Shut up," Allison said, smacking Kristie's knee. Both girls were lounging on Allison's king-sized bed, gentle music playing from an expensive-looking stereo system on her dresser. "I heard from someone in my biology class that a whole bunch of upperclassmen are going to be sneaking into the park later tonight. At like midnight or something."

Her voice had dropped in pitch by a great margin, and she kept glancing at her door. It was as if she expected her parents to bust in at any moment.

When Kristie didn't immediately respond, Allison clicked her tongue against her teeth in irritation. "Well? I think we should totally go! Don't you agree? It'll be the perfect chance to get in with some of the _senior boys_!"

"How would we get out there?" Kristie asked skeptically, setting her phone on her chest.

"I'll drive us."

Kristie scoffed. "You only have a learner's permit, dumbass."

"I can drive just _fine_ by myself. Besides, I'm going to get my actual license in like, three months or something," she countered. "None of that matters, anyway. No one's going to be on the street so it's not like I'll have to worry about hitting anyone. We're just driving to the park, not to like, the next town or out of state."

Sitting up, Kristie sighed and mulled it over for a moment. She had a couple senior friends already, but that was just because they shared a class with her, and there was one boy in particular that she had a crush on.

"What if we get caught?"

"We just won't be! It'll be fun. We'll root around the woods for a bit and maybe get to see a crashed plane. The boys will think we're cool and brave," her friend giggled.

Still, Kristie hesitated.

Allison took her by the shoulders and started whining. "Come _on_. It won't be that bad. We'll dress warm, and it'll be better than sitting on this bed all night looking stupid videos online or watching really bad horror movies. We can pretend we're in a horror movie!"

"What about your mom?" Kristie asked.

"What about her?"

"We'd have to sneak out, wouldn't we?"

Waving her hand, Allison dismissed the notion with a scoff. "We can just walk out the front door. I leave all the time after Mom goes to bed."

"You're terrible," Kristie snickered, tossing a stuffed bear at her friend.

Giggling, Allison grabbed it and hit Kristie back with the thing.

"No, but I mean like, didn't she want to watch the movie with us?"

"Ugh, you're right. We'll probably end up being late and we'll have to meet up with everyone afterward. . .they probably won't wait for us. Gah!" Allison sighed heavily and threw herself across the bed, lying on her stomach. "Maybe I could just tell her we're too tired and don't want to watch it anymore or something."

"She'll be pretty disappointed."

"I _know_. She bought all that popcorn. . . .Alright, well let's go see if she wants to start it now, then we won't be too late."

Shrugging, Kristie threw her legs over the side of the bed and hopped down. "Sure."

"So you're on board with going?"

Kristie nodded. "I mean, why not. There'll be a lot of people there, right?"

"I think so."

"Then if the cops or a bear show up we just gotta run faster than the slowest people," Kristie said with a mischievous grin.

Allison made a surprised sound and jumped down to chase after Kristie. "Now _you're_ terrible!"

*:･ﾟ✧

"God, that movie took _forever_ to end!" Allison huffed.

"Yeah, for real. It wasn't even, like, any good. My sister always gets terrified by those movies but I don't understand how," Kristie said, leaning back in her seat. They were finally on the road, even if it was well past midnight.

Her friend glanced at her for a second. "I thought it was a little scary, at least. A couple of good jump scares, anyway. But yeah, it wasn't great."

"My mom and I just think they're hilarious. Alan won't watch them at all."

"Isn't he like, eight or something?"

"I mean—well he's 11. But yeah, never mind," she admitted, digging around in her bag for her car charger. She wanted to make sure her phone had a full battery before hiking. "Nichole loves horror movies but is such a scaredy cat about them."

Allison snickered but had nothing else to say.

Kristie dawdled on her phone for a few minutes, then groaned and caught Allison's attention. "It's going to snow tonight. I'm not dressed for this shit."

"Ah crap, me either."

The two shared a brief moment or two of lamenting, but overall decided to stay the course. After all, hiking through the woods would keep them warm. Allison, however, only knew a general direction of where to go from the park and that was it. She had no actual direct contact that would be relaying any information.

When Kristie tried one of her upperclassman acquaintances, they weren't part of the group either. Nor did they know anyone who was.

"So. . .we're on our own," Allison said after Kristie had relayed as much.

"Yup."

"Well, shit."

Setting down her phone to let it finish charging, Kristie asked, "Should we go home?"

"No way," Allison scoffed. "I jacked my mom's car for this whole thing. I ain't just going home after getting this far!"

Kristie rolled her eyes and smiled. "Your Texas is showing."

"Oh, shut up."

It was several minutes before either of the girls spoke again, content to sit and listen to the radio in relative silence. Eventually, Kristie pointed and flailed her arm across from Allison. "Wait, turn around! Go back!"

"What? No way. We said—"

"No! I mean go back to that parking lot real quick."

Even as she made the U-turn, Allison muttered, "Why? We're already running so late."

Sitting as tall as she could in her seat, Kristie craned her neck to see better. "I think I recognized the car that was sitting in there. I want to make sure."

"This one?" Allison asked, turning in.

"Yeah." Kristie had to bite back some sarcasm: there was only one parking lot with a single car in it so of course that was the right one.

She pulled her mom's car next to the one sitting in the dark. Kristie hopped out of the vehicle and circled the other, peering in the slightly tinted windows until finally returning to her seat. Her brow knit together in a mix of irritation and concern as she buckled back in.

Allison waited for her to say something before pressing the issue. "So? Is it the car you thought it was or what?"

"Yeah. It's my sister's friend's car. Michelle."

"And?" Allison urged, driving back toward the park.

"So she's probably out there, too! I can't believe this. . .she's such a freaking goody-two-shoes and she decides _now_ to pull this shit?"

Shrugging, Allison said, "Maybe she didn't come."

"Maybe, but with my luck she totally did."

"So who cares? It's not like she can rat you out without ratting herself out. At this rate, we probably won't see anyone anyway! They're probably halfway up the mountain already."

Sighing, Kristie crossed her arms. "I guess."

A few miles later, Allison pulled the car off the side of the road and shut down the engine. "There's a couple cars pulled off here, so I guess we're walking the rest of the way."

All Kristie did was make a non-committal sound before climbing out.

"Oh my god, if you're going to be like this for the whole thing you may as well just stay in the car," Allison growled, shooting Kristie a glare.

"I'm fine."

Part of Allison wanted to argue, but she decided that it just wasn't worth it. Kristie would be able to work the steam off while they struggled to catch up with the main group. Hopefully, they would have been slowed down by how many people were in the group. They didn't know how many exactly, but Allison's friend had made it sound like a good portion of the juniors and seniors were going to show up for the hunt.

First, though, they had to make it past the cops.

Both girls spotted the cruisers at the same time and dove off the main path. Kristie was certainly feeling less grumpy after walking some distance, and now that they were faced with a bunch of police officers, she realized she had bigger problems than where her older sister was.

"How are we going to get around them?" Kristie asked in a hushed undertone.

Allison peered over the rock she was behind. A few of the cops were patrolling, sweeping flashlights over the trees and ground. "We'll probably just have to give them a wide berth."

"Okay, so which way?"

Her friend turned and peered around, trying to gain her bearings. Kristie offered, "The car is back that way. Which way did the thing crash?"

"Over that direction. So we'll have to head that way."

"Alright, well let's go."

With a nod, Allison crouched and scurried across the path to the other side. Kristie followed close behind her. The two wound their way through the trees and underbrush, trying to gauge how far the cops were from just the beams of their flashlights. Neither could guess how wide the perimeter they had set up was, so they kept going straight into the forest in the direction they thought the group was.

"Is this far enough? I want to get back on a path," Kristie complained.

"I don't have any idea. I suppose we can try to get a little closer."

The two teens cut a diagonal path through the tree line toward where they remembered the park's hiking path to be. Branches and brambles pulled at their clothes, but they were able to squeeze through and out onto a worn path. They waited, listening, but no one descended upon them.

Sighing with relief, Allison motioned for them to continue. "Alright, this way."

Kristie nodded and kept pace with her friend.

"How far in do you think they are?"

"Not sure," Allison said. Both were still speaking quietly. "Hopefully not so far that we can't catch up to them soon."

A few bends and turns into the hike, Kristie put her hand up to cut Allison off from whatever she was saying. In the new semi-silence, she could just barely make out the sound of someone speaking up ahead. At last!

"I think they're up there. You hear those voices?"

It took a second for Allison to catch on, but she nodded and grabbed Kristie's hand. "Yeah, I hear it. They didn't get very far at all! Maybe they started late."

"Maybe. Let's hurry."

Both took off at a jog down the path, struggling up the hill. Neither wanted to call out to them in case the cops down below heard them, but when they were within range, they tried their luck.

"Hey, guys," Allison softly shouted, as if she were on stage.

They were blinded by a sudden, bright shine of a flashlight and they stopped dead, shielding their eyes against the glare. Kristie's heart dropped as she realized that she and her friend had made a terrible mistake.

"What are you girls doing out here?" the first cop demanded.

"This area is off-limits!" the other added.

Allison gasped and tugged on Kristie, yanking her back down the hill. "Run!"

"Wait, what—"

But Kristie was already yanked toward her friend who had started running. The cops called after them, giving chase without a doubt. The two girls stumbled on the uneven ground, and the two officers were faster and more sure-footed than they. It wasn't long before they caught up and grabbed the teens by the scruff of their jackets, stopping them.

"Ow! Let me go," Allison harrumphed, trying to pry her arms out of the first cop's grip as he twisted them behind her back.

Kristie said nothing, just grunted as she was given the same treatment.

The third, slower cop caught up and shook her head. "How long have you two been out here? Do your parents know where you are?"

Neither said a word, just glowered at the ground.

All three cops sighed and shook their head. The female officer said, "I'll escort them back with Kincaid. You keep on patrol."

*:･ﾟ✧

Two cruisers were moved next to each other so the two girls could sit across from each other, each in the back seat of one cruiser. The two officers that had caught them were standing in between, arms crossed or hands on hips. They weren't in cuffs.

"You two alone?" the woman, Officer Lopez, asked.

Not one of them had said anything yet, too scared and angry to trust themselves to speak. Kristie assumed they were asking because no one else had been caught, yet.

The two officers shared a look, and then Officer Kincaid said, "If you guys cooperate, we'll call your parents and have them come pick you up. If you don't, we'll have to book you and you'll spend the rest of the night in a cell until your parents can get you in the morning."

Allison and Kristie glanced up at each other from the tops of their eyes, gazes otherwise planted on the ground.

Kristie pursed her lips together.

"It'll go on your records, and the military might press further charges," Kincaid elaborated.

She thought back to Marie's car, sitting in the parking lot a few miles back. If Nichole was with her, she was going to get away Scott free while she was busted by her mom and dad or rot in jail for the rest of the night.

And that just wouldn't do.

"We were going to meet with a group of kids from school," she started, earning a wide-eyed and open-mouthed expression from Allison.

"What the fuck, Kristie?"

"I'm not going to _jail_ for these people!" Kristie snapped back.

"There's more of you out there somewhere?" Lopez muttered, lifting her hand to grab her walkie. When Kristie nodded, she relayed the message to the others on patrol. "Be on the lookout for more high schoolers in those woods. Who knows how far in they are."

Her radio crackled to life. "How the hell did they slip past us?"

"I don't know. We might not have given them enough credit," Lopez sighed.

There was a pause before someone responded. "Roger. I'll send a party out to go looking for them. Stay safe."

Kincaid addressed Kristie. "Do you know who we're looking for? Names?"

"My sister Nichole might be out there, her friend Marie. Maybe Jessica, too. I'm not sure who else, it was a bunch of juniors and seniors, though. Maybe some other sophomores," Kristie replied, eyes locked on her shoes. "They wanted to find the crash."

"Of course they did. Never should have told them not to go in there," Lopez muttered more to herself than to the others.

"Anything to add there, missy?" Lopez asked Allison.

Lips thinned, Allison mulled it over for a moment and then sighed. "I don't know. They were supposed to start at midnight. We were late. Um, a guy named Nathan was supposed to come. That's all I know, though."

"Midnight? Jesus."

Lopez hopped back on the radio to transmit this new information, hoping that it would help that search party figure out how far to go looking for the other teens.

Pulling a pen and notepad out of his pocket, Kincaid first handed it to Kristie. "Alright, if you think of anything else, let us know. For now, just write down your full names, phone numbers, and home addresses so we can call your parents."

Allison shifted uncomfortably for a moment while Kristie jotted down the information on one of the pages. "I took my mom's car. She won't be able to get me."

"That's fine. We can take you home unless her parents want to take responsibility."

Kristie, without meeting Allison's face, handed the notepad over to her. She took it with more force than was necessary and angrily scribbled down her information. When she was done, she shoved it back in Kincaid's hands and turned so she was sitting fully inside the car, pouting with her arms crossed over her chest.

Quietly, Kincaid thanked the two girls and hopped into the front seat of the car Kristie was in to make the phone calls. Otherwise, everyone lounged about in silence, waiting for information from their parents or the search party.

Several minutes later, Lopez's radio blew up.

"Teens found. Terrified—babbling about their dead friends."

Both girls perked up, suddenly on the edge of their seats in the open doors. It hadn't even started snowing, yet. How could anyone have died?

"Repeat," Lopez demanded. "Who's dead?"

"I'm not sure, I can't make any sense out of these kids—what was that?"

Everyone was silent, waiting for the officer to come back on the radio and explain. Lopez impatiently brought the receiver to her lips. "Come in, report."

When next her radio clicked on, it was full of screaming and gunfire—startling everyone present. It soon echoed down the mountain, the screams faint but the gunshots like rolling thunder as the sound bounced off the peaks. Once again, all those present fell silent and merely listened, open-mouthed in shock and confusion.

"Backup! Send backup! There's something in the woods," came the voice of the officer from before, nearly washed out by all the screaming. "It got Jones. . . _they_ got Jones! Took him into the trees—I don't know what it is!"

In the background, someone was telling the kids to run. The gunfire continued.

"What's going on?" Allison asked, leaning forward to clutch Kristie's hand, who squeezed back. Both girls were white as a sheet.

Lopez didn't pick up her walkie again and instead indicated for Kristie to scoot further into the car. "You, get in here. Kinkaid, take them back into the city and get them home as soon as you can. I'll drive as far into the park as I can and see what I can do."

Her radio kept crackling to life, catching glimpses of inhuman squeals, making the hairs on the back of Kristie's neck raise.

Allison dove into the cruiser with Kristie and Lopez slammed the door shut.

"Don't worry girls, you're alright," Kincaid muttered, throwing the vehicle into gear and tearing off down the gravel road.

All Kristie could do was stare at the seat in front of her. Allison was still holding her hand, trembling. The fact that Nichole could be out there somewhere crossed her mind, but that notion wasn't as loud as the one that wondered what would have become of her had they not been late.

And, above all, what in the hell was out in the woods.


	3. Self-Preservation

**Hello, readers!**

 **If you have ideas for a one-shot you'd like to see, feel free to post it in a review or PM me!**

 **I'm throwing up a bunch of these right off the bat as a sort of...present? To all of you. For being so wonderful these last couple of years! Let me know what you think~**

 **If you haven't already, please go read the _Phantasm_ edits! This following one-shot features some changes that I've made since my original publication of _Phantasm_ and it might make more sense if you read them! I have up to chapter...11 edited? Something like that. Might be kind of spoilery if you haven't seen the edits yet!**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Self-Preservation

A short retelling of _Phantasm_ chapter three from a different point of view. Requested by Angel Commando. Rated T, mild violence.

* * *

Her limbs ached, her lungs heaved. The icy claws of fear had her heart in a death grip, slowly squeezing the life out of her. But onward she ran, forcing one leg in front of her.

Nichole's hand held hers firm. Her support was the only thing keeping Jess upright. That and the constant presence of monsters bearing down on them. Their screeches followed the teens back down the mountain and the screams of her fellow classmates spurred her forward.

"Keep up!" came Nichole's plea.

It took Jess a moment to summon enough air to speak. "I'm _trying_!"

Each step became harder and harder to take. Her feet were so heavy, her legs filled with sand. She didn't know how long they'd been running, but it felt like forever. The hike up the mountain had already taken more time and energy than Jess had to spare, and now all this sprinting.

 _Why hadn't I joined a sport team?_

Instead she'd chosen to fulfill the school's requirements by "managing" the girls' basketball team. Holding on to the clipboard, making sure people knew when and where practices were.

Busy work.

Fake work, to make her feel useful. A position where people who were bad at sports could still participate in some way and make the school happy.

Maybe if she'd taken that leap of faith and tried out for the team proper she wouldn't be so out of breath. She'd been so terrified of rejection and embarrassing herself that she'd never done it. She told herself it was fine being able to go to the games, to talk with the players.

Junior varsity would have been fine. She didn't need to be a varsity player, but she'd been scared they wouldn't even want her for JV.

If she had, maybe she wouldn't be weighing Nichole down.

Jess wasn't dumb; she knew Nichole would be at the front of the pack if she didn't need to hold on to her. And yet there she was, hand in hand with the slowest person in the group.

But she was glad.

Glad that she wasn't alone, glad someone wasn't trying desperately to pass her up. The old joke played in her mind—"you don't have to be faster than the bear, just faster than the slowest person." And people were passing her up left and right.

Olivia from third period screamed behind her, giving her a sudden burst of speed. It cut out with a sudden silence, louder than any noise.

"Go Jess! Go go!" Nichole huffed, prompted by Jess' whimper. "We got this! We got this!"

More voices from their classmates split the night, shouting various things. Their terror heated the air, weighed on them all.

She listened for the sound of her other friends—of Michelle, Jake—but she couldn't find them.

Too many screams. Too many sounds. Her blood roared in her ears.

Obstacles spanned their path in the form of fallen trees, rocks, and general mountain terrain. It switched constantly from uphill to downhill to flat ground. Rocky gravel to soft sod. It all furthered fate's agenda to drain Jess of her energy and will to keep moving. Nichole dragged her over the hindrances and tried her best to keep her encouraged.

Eventually the broken trees gave way to pristine forest. The others up ahead had already torn down the police barrier to escape, so there was nothing stopping Jess and Nichole from leaving behind the carnage wrought by the fallen spacecraft.

For the first time since she'd started running, Jess chanced a glance behind her.

Nothing. No other classmates, no monsters.

Just trees and darkness.

"Nichole," she gasped, lungs burning for air. Adrenaline had carried her far, but it couldn't make the impossible happen. It couldn't turn someone who hadn't sprinted more than a few yards into a track star. It couldn't make someone with a fifteen minute mile run one in six minutes without issue.

"Run, keep moving!"

"Nichole. . . ."

Her friend ignored the latest of Jess' whining as the largest hill yet spread out before them. The angle wasn't impossible, but it made sprinting down difficult. Jess tried to slow, but Nichole nearly wrenched her arm from its socket trying to use the incline to increase their speed.

Someone ahead fell, tripped up on the hill, a root—anything was possible. The thought to stop and help crossed her mind, but Nichole didn't slow or show any signs that she would.

Jess' heart cracked and she looked over at them as they passed by.

 _Michelle._

"Wait! Wait, Nichole wait!" Jess shouted, digging her heels into the soft ground. Nichole jerked to a stop and turned on Jess with wild eyes, trying to figure out why they'd stopped. Jess tried to pull Nichole back up toward their other best friend.

However, Nichole wasn't making it easy.

"We have to help!" Jess insisted. They couldn't leave Michelle! Maybe they didn't always see eye to eye, but Nichole always found a way to make them friends again. Even if Michelle wasn't the easiest person to get along with sometimes, they'd been friends for so long.

The world wouldn't be the same without her, no matter what.

"Michelle!" Jake shouted, shooting by to his girlfriend's side.

"C'mon, Nichole," Jess said, pulling on her friend.

Their friend rolled over, gripping her leg. Dirt smeared across her clothes and face, scratched up from the fall. Her hand was bleeding where she'd tried to brace herself, and her pant leg was torn. "I—I cracked my knee on something when I fell!"

They were so close. She could almost reach out and touch Michelle. Just a few more steps.

"Can you walk?" Jess asked, breath coming in ragged gasps. "We have to _run_!"

Jake slipped his arms around Michelle's waist and tried to heave her to her feet. "Babe, get up!"

Time was running out. Jess looked up and saw shadows moving in the trees. It was no hiss from the wind that she was hearing, but the sound of nightmarish monsters coming to collect their prey. She couldn't count how many, not in the darkness. Not when it seemed like the whole forest was moving. When every shadow or rock looked like an enemy.

 _Hurry, hurry._

"Nichole!" said Jess, turning her pleading gaze to Nichole. "Help!"

Nichole's eyes wandered past the small group to the encroaching demons. The haste had been taken from their steps—no need to chase an unmoving target. They could stalk, take their time, ensure that their prey would be taken intact.

The two locked eyes and for a second Jess thought Nichole would come to their aid. That she'd help make sure their trio remained a trio.

Her eyes glazed with tears and Nichole's grip on Jess' hand slackened. Confusion was followed by realization a split second before Nichole tore her hand free. Jess kept her hand raised for a brief moment, her mouth open, as she watched Nichole's back recede.

She found her voice. "Nichole!"

Already Jake had moved up next to Jess and he paused when he noticed her sprinting away and into the darkness. "Nichole! Wait!" he shouted.

"Is she getting help? Where's Nichole going?" Michelle panted.

Slowly Jess' hand fell to her side. The screeches were louder now, spurred on by the prospect of another chase. They moved in before the rest of their prey could make their escape. Tears welled and slid down her cheeks.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Six-year-old Jess sat alone on the swing, a thin book about cats in her hands. She swung lightly back and forth, sighing. The sound of footsteps lifted her gaze to a flushed-face girl from the next class over. She was smiling, eyes bright._

 _"Hi! Wanna play tag with us?"_

 _Jess look around, unsure who she was talking to. No one else was around, so she said, "Me? You want me to play tag?"_

 _"Yeah, c'mon! We need more people!"_

 _Smiling, Jess closed her book. "Yeah, sure." She ran to the side of the building to set her book down, then scampered after the other young student into the field beyond. Normally it was full of students playing soccer or football, but now a massive game of tag was being orchestrated._

 _"What's your name again?"_

 _"Jessica."_

 _"I'm Nichole. You can be on my team."_

*:･ﾟ✧

Michelle's voice pierced the veil, one decibel above ear-splitting. "Jess, run!"

Her legs refused to work. Nichole had already disappeared into the forest, likely caught up with the others that had made it. Jake and Michelle were a few paces ahead of her, stopped to turn and look at her. Jake continued to try and carry Michelle away, but she wouldn't turn away from Jess.

"Jess! Jess!"

Behind her a long, thick tail arched. Two creatures slipped past her to pursue the two teens trying to escape. Jess shuddered and her face twisted.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Music pumped and the three girls belted out the lyrics, not caring who it might annoy downstairs. When the song ended, Michelle hopped over to the game controller and flicked through the score card. "Okay okay, time for a break."_

 _Jess was more than happy to flop over Michelle's queen-sized bed and catch her breath._

 _"Hey c'mon," Nichole whined. "It was my turn to pick the song!"_

 _Michelle rolled her eyes and scrolled back to Nichole's score. "Well I doubt that would have helped your score any! You're tone-deaf!"_

 _With an affronted scoff, Nichole picked up a pillow and tossed it at Michelle. She deflected it with a half-hearted wave of her hand. She picked it up off the floor and hurled it back at her, but Nichole caught it and stuck her tongue out. Michelle said, "It's time for pizza! Mom sent me a text."_

 _Snickering, Jess said, "She's right down the stairs."_

 _Michelle helped Jess to her feet and tried to lead them down the stairs, giggling. "Yeah but we were being so loud we didn't hear her knocking so let's go!"_

 _"What kind of pizza did your parents order?" Jess asked._

 _"One pepperoni and one cheese. Hey—hey can I do your guys' makeup after we eat?"_

 _Both Jess and Nichole groaned, but after some goading from Michelle, they relented and Michelle let out a gleeful squeal._

*:･ﾟ✧

Jess grunted and hit the ground hard. Michelle shrieked her name, but Jake hurried them away. Claws raked at Jess, scrabbling to get a hold of her. She writhed, grabbing at the ground, reaching out for Michelle as Jake hauled her away. She struggled, hobbling on one leg and reaching for Jess as well, but she couldn't do anything. None of them could.

Not when the personification of evil was on top of them, dragging Jess away.

 _It wouldn't have mattered_ , Jess thought as she screamed, jacket and skin alike tearing as she was hauled back up the hill.

 _We all would have been caught._

More of the abyss-colored creatures pounced on Jake and Michelle, separating them. One sauntered extreme right with Michelle while the other went straight back the way it came, dragging Jake and Jess in the same direction.

 _Nichole escaped._

Some semblance of relief, comical as it was, blanketed her in warmth.

 _She'll bring help._

 _She'll live._

But they were platitudes she told herself. Falsehoods, to rationalize the betrayal she felt. A bitterness the size of a pinhead wormed into her heart. It seethed quietly in its own corner of her soul. Nichole had left them all. When Michelle needed them, she'd fled. Anger at herself, for not being better, joined it. Neither emotions would have enough time to blossom. They wouldn't be nurtured, or raised to fruition before she died.

They stopped altogether as her world turned dark. But before her consciousness fled her entirely, a single thought flit across her id.

 _Nichole, come back, please._


	4. First Impressions

**Hello, readers!**

 **It's been a while since I've posted a short one-shot, and I am sorry. XD But here it is! I hope to pump more of these out more often, but unfortunately that means the quality may not be on par with my beta'd chapters. I try, though, I do haha. So long as you enjoy them and can ignore any grevious errors, that's what matters~!**

 **So, enjoy this new chapter in hopefully a long line of them. :) Feel free to pop into my inbox to request a one-shot you'd like to see!**

 **~Crayola**

* * *

First Impressions

A short story detailing a few chapters of Phantasm from Wolf's POV. Rated T for mild violence.

* * *

The moment he came to, Sha'ktil-ar was ready for a fight. He jumped up with a growl but found no real enemy to attack. He'd been on the floor in a heap, but couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. He recalled the ship shuddering, the alarm sounding. . .he'd tried to investigate but had been thrown back into his room and then everything had all gone dark.

A bigger blow to his pride than any physical wound he may have sustained. The gaps in his memory were concerning, but he assumed it was due to the ache in his head.

First, he had to figure out what had happened.

No matter how many times he tried to speak with other members of his clan, no one answered. Either they couldn't, or there was a malfunction in their gear. Maybe his sat-com was the one malfunctioning. It seemed to have retained its other uses—active camouflage was operational, as was his holo-projector and the self-destruct feature. It must be on everyone else.

He fit his bio-mask on and waited for the HUD to boot. It flickered as if damaged, but with a few precise slaps, the display cleared and he was able to navigate through the functions.

Thermal, ultraviolet, and electromagnetic visions were working. Visible light was out, as were a few other setting in his mask. Life support was operational, and his targeting system was working fine. Any others would have to wait until he made an attempt to use them.

At least the main ones worked.

Though the pain was a fine indicator that he was injured, Sha'ktil-ar wanted specifics. If the med bay was even in any condition to complete a full scan. He would make his way there.

For now, it was good enough for him that he could walk and had full use of his arms. He could bend, crouch, stretch. Still, some of his ribs were broken. Not bad enough to hinder him, but each breath caused him great discomfort. Contusions, a few cuts, a minor concussion. . . . Otherwise, he was fine and could continue.

On a hunt, wounds were sometimes worse. Being tossed around in what he could only assume was a crash landing was nothing. With his self-check and gear check as complete as he felt necessary, it was time to figure out what had happened.

The ship had crashed, that much was apparent.

But why? And who else had survived? How long had he been out before waking?

Since no one was answering his hails, he'd have to go investigate. Since he didn't know _why_ the ship had crashed, he erred on the side of caution and made sure his personal gauntlet was working—blades and projectiles. Everything else was in the armory.

The door to his quarters wasn't working, but it took little effort to pry it open. Then, he had to navigate the halls to the armory, and from there the medical bay. He'd have to check every room on the way, to see if he could find any survivors.

Or answers.

*:･ﾟ✧

There were no signs of life. The rooms that weren't empty contained only gear and technology. The one other yautja Sha'ktil-ar had found was broken and limp, mangled, seemingly without putting up a fight. Something had found him first, and he hadn't had time to defend himself.

Sha'ktil-ar was caught between pity and disgust, but gave his comrade the benefit of the doubt and showed his respect before moving on. After all, he'd been knocked out during the crash as well.

Had he been found by an enemy, he wouldn't have lasted either.

More than ever, he knew he needed heavier weapons.

However, he still did not encounter anything hostile. The ship was quiet except for the occasional creak of it settling, and it seemed to slant. His chosen path, Sha'ktil-ar soon found, was caved in and he rerouted the long way.

More of the same—nothing. No survivors, no hostiles, and no more clan members, alive or dead. Occasionally, though, he caught wind of strange noises deep in the ship.

Familiar.

Unsettling.

They put him on edge: he shouldn't be hearing them here. They hadn't been carrying any drones or a queen, so where had the _kiande amedha_ come from? It was their unmistakable cries in the distance Sha'ktil-ar was hearing, he was sure of it.

If there was an infestation starting, he'd have to end it before the creatures could gain purchase on whatever planet they had crash-landed on. Had some stowed away from the previous hunt?

He snorted in irritation. Insatiable, frustrating insects. They never knew when to give up.

That was what made them challenging prey, and yet times like these just made him wonder if they were worth all the headaches.

The many skulls that had awarded him his current standing in the clan told him they were.

Wasn't going to stop him from complaining to himself.

Knowing now what he might be up against, he switched to EM vision and tread lightly. Though it didn't make much of a difference in the long run, he still cloaked to make himself feel better. He wasn't sure what planet they were on yet, and he didn't want any unexpected surprises from local indigenous life if he could avoid it.

During his walk to the armory, though, he ran into nothing. There was no one inside it, and he picked out a caster, the whip he favored, and a hand-held blade that attached to his back via his magnetized gear, among a few other things.

Armed to the tusk, he headed out to find the source of the screeches.

Something had made them angry; their pitch had changed, the frequency. They were chasing, hunting. He'd heard that sound so many times it was ingrained into him. The yautja warrior made a swift run toward the noises, wondering what had them so upset.

The reason he preferred was that it was another yautja, but there was still no answer when he tried to hail someone.

So he stopped trying.

Cries from the _kiande amedha_ led him to a long hall. It was showing the telltale signs of the bug's nests, and he stuck his fingers in a puddle of slime. Fresh. They were close—the screeching had stopped as if they'd chased off what had bothered them in the first place.

But he followed the trail anyway. If there was a nest, there were eggs. Which meant there was a queen around somewhere, and he would need to kill her.

What he found instead caught him off-guard. He switched back and forth from EM to thermal and back again in quick succession, getting just enough of the picture to make an observation. Their ship had crash-landed on a favored hunting destination. He recalled a scheduled hunt on the planet but hadn't even considered that it was where they'd crashed.

But those were unmistakably humans. He'd hunted enough of them to know at a glance what they looked like in thermal vision. There was one free, the rest in cocoons, and it was facing off with a lone drone and holding a makeshift weapon in its hand.

A perfect distraction. The drone hadn't even realized he was there.

He approached unhindered, wrist blade drawn, and dispatched the drone with ease.

The human stood there, frozen to the spot. It was confused. He could tell by the way it searched the room, by the way its fear had abated for a brief moment. However, the tell-tale staccato of its heart started again as he shed his active camouflage.

Sha'ktil-ar hadn't intended to save it from the _kiande amedha_ drone. That was just luck on the human's part—the right place at the right time.

Now he had to decide what to do with the human.

He cocked his head to one side and clicked his tusks together in thought. From the moment he'd woken up, he'd been ready to encounter anything but was still taken aback by the appearance of humans. This one was terrified, so most likely not a fighter. Nothing worth his time, or a human that would last long on the ship. Trembling, pulse off the charts. . . .

It retreated a step when he tried to advance. Just as he thought it might.

Height, weight, heart rate. . .an adolescent, almost mature, probably female. Most likely she had been dragged in as a host so the _kiande amedha_ could increase their numbers. The ones hanging on the walls were dead or soon to be.

A quick scan told him that she hadn't been infected yet. No need for a mercy kill. He retracted his blades.

Such a simple action was enough to set the human girl off. She shrieked in surprise, a sound magnified by his mask, and hurled the object in its hand at him. As if it that would ward him off. His earlier scans had told him it wasn't dangerous, and he caught it with ease before it could strike him.

She had good aim. Had he been another human or other slow opponent, the thing would have hit him in the head. He looked it over, then turned his gaze back to the little human. She was in a full panic now, but she'd made one thing clear to him: she was wasn't a runner. She was scared, but she'd still resorted to attacking instead of fleeing.

Or cowering. He had to at least give her that.

Even if it had hit him, the thing she had thrown wouldn't have hurt him. Still, the slightly couldn't go ignored. Sha'ktil-ar primed his caster and aimed the target beams at her chest, then dropped the item. He gauged her reaction, and for some reason, she seemed. . .calmer. She was still scared, but there was a new rhythm to her heart.

Her muscles tensed. Was she going to try to dodge if he shot? What a ridiculous notion. It was strange to him that she was more prepared for a fight now than she had been.

Maybe because his intentions were now clear. The uncertainty was gone.

He watched for a time, then decided the human wasn't going anywhere and took stock of the room they were in. He didn't usually venture on this side of the ship, so he didn't remember what it was for. Its purpose was hidden underneath a layer of _kiande amedha_ secretions, as well, but it was large. Maybe a storage room they hadn't had use for yet.

It should have been full of eggs, but he couldn't see them. Sha'ktil-ar switched through a couple vision modes specific to hunting their kind, using the caster's sights to sweep over everything, and finally found the eggs. There was some there, a couple pieces to his left, a pile of broken ones at her feet. . . .

Had she done all of that? No one else was in any condition, and when he checked all he found were her footprints—same size and shape. Frantic steps inside, then she'd made a trip outside only to come back in, it looked like. Then she'd. . .what? Destroyed all the eggs? By herself? The only unoccupied cocoon was presumably hers, so he could only imagine the answer was yes.

A few of the first stage _kiande amedha_ were dead, one smashed against the wall. The other peppered with holes.

She'd gone through an awful lot of trouble to make sure she wasn't infected.

Somehow she'd freed herself, then killed everything in the room to ensure her safety. She had some fight in her. He growled and found himself somewhat impressed. Busting eggs and killing a couple embryo carriers wasn't a major feat, of course.

Considering how obviously terrified she was, it was a miracle she'd been able to function at all.

No longer being targeted, the human relaxed. However, when she tried to move, he went right back to targeting her chest. She froze, and for a moment he was amused at how easily she moved into a stance. Her form was poor and obviously meant for something other than battle, but she had some potential. Pity she'd die here.

But, not by his claw. He wasn't in the business of wanton murder; she was unarmed and of no physical threat. She wasn't infected so he needn't end her suffering.

Well, she wasn't suffering at the moment, but she might be later. He had half a mind to put her down now. He almost felt sorry for her, for the things she might endure or have to experience, but it was a fleeting thought, and he snorted at himself for even having it.

His caster went back on standby and the red targets disappeared. He listened and watched for signs of _kiande amedha_ coming, but there was nothing. Sha'ktil-ar gave the girl one last look, then moved to the edges of the room to examine the humans pinned against the wall, keeping an eye on the girl in the center of the room.

She watched him the entire time, eased when she realized he wasn't going to kill her but still on edge in case he changed his mind. He was aware of her gaze as he moved, and she never once let down her guard. Though she wasn't ready to fight, she was ready for something.

He wouldn't have cared if she tried to leave, but she was playing it smart.

Sha'ktil-ar passed up the dead humans and instead stood in front of the ones still alive, checking them for infection and killing them if they were. She was the only one who hadn't been infected. Her pulse stuttered every time he sank his blade into flesh.

But, she never moved except to watch him, so he ignored her. Once he was certain he'd taken care of the human hosts, he left her to whatever her fate may be.

*:･ﾟ✧

She didn't think he knew, but he was aware that she was following him. He'd noticed her after the first drones that he'd had to fight—not just sneak up on and kill. There was something cathartic in real battle, and it made him feel almost good about the situation.

There had even been more than one. An actual challenge. In his prime, without injuries, they never would have stood a chance in a small group. Now he'd gotten a run for his money.

Let him figure out why it happened later. Killing these enemies was a good place to start.

But for now, he was more concerned about the silly human tailing him. What did she hope would happen? Maybe she thought he'd lead her to an exit. Or keep her safe, just by being in his general vicinity. She wasn't wrong, but he wasn't about to go out of his way if she was caught being stupid. If she could keep up, then fine.

He monitored her while he explored, moving at his own pace. Her stamina held, but the atmosphere of the ship was making her lag some.

The systems weren't working in most parts of the ship. His life support system kept coming to life; his own people's ship was more suited for the humans than the yautja aboard. Either there was a leak, the sensors were broken, or there weren't enough yautja alive to warrant it turning on.

More humans alive than yautja. . .he couldn't fathom it.

Where were his clan mates?

Her steps were light, but still noisy. As they moved further, though, she seemed to adjust to the terrain and he had a harder time hearing her following. When he looked back, though, she was there. A bright spot of heat in an otherwise dark ship. She probably thought she was hiding, but even the smallest exposed body part gave her away.

Still, she was doing well for an untrained juvenile human. She didn't even seem particularly frightened anymore—something similar, but he hadn't the name for it. Couldn't identify with. He couldn't explain what her pulse and blood pressure meant.

Humans.

Every time he thought he lost her, she showed back up again. He'd taken to waiting a few minutes to see if she showed up, and she always did.

Considering he was stopping in each room, and combatting the occasional drone, it wasn't that great a feat. So, he made an actual attempt to lose her. If she could keep up and track him through that, then maybe she could earn his guidance, no matter how unwitting it was.

As expected, though, any sort of added pressure was too much.

She was gone.

All that meant was that the fate she had prolonged in the first nest was going to be played out later. She'd wander the ship looking for him, looking for an out, but one way or the other, something was going to find her and kill her. If not him, another of his clan mates. If not one of them, then one of the _kiande amedha._

Unfortunate, but this was the way of the world. She'd shown some potential, but it wasn't quite where it needed to be to get her out of his ship.

After all, she was only human.

*:･ﾟ✧

Room after room, chamber after chamber, hallway after hallway. . . . Nothing. Dead yautja here and there, which was disheartening. Only a small selection of them seemed to have perished in the crash, the others had been killed.

By something larger than a drone.

Sha'ktil-ar wasn't sure what it could be. There was nothing on Earth that he knew of that could inflict the wounds he had seen. Not the big cats from the jungles, or even the horned beasts in the deserts. The only other thing on the ship was the _kiande amedha_.

Was the queen loose and seeking out his clan mates?

That would be the only thing.

He ran his talons across the claw marks embedded in a young warrior's chest. The scales and skin in his arm were mangled and almost unrecognizable. Whatever had done this had been angry, but that was par for the course. It seemed all these creatures could feel was rage.

But this. . .was different.

Vengeful. That couldn't be, though. . .they weren't sentient enough for that, were they?

His thoughts were interrupted by screaming, and a single unintelligible screech. Shouting fom down the hall—his mask picked it up as language and started to translate, but couldn't pick up enough of the syntax and syllables to translate anything coherent.

It could only be a human.

Another one, or the same one? He hadn't ever heard her speak, so he had no way of knowing. Nonetheless, there was a drone there, which meant he would go. He couldn't leave it to some human to kill the thing, and having one running around was out of the question.

A bright spot in the dim, lifeless ship. Another human, male—adult. Built more like a warrior than the female.

On the ground. Convulsing.

Infected. Dead soon. The drone could wait another few seconds. He stopped and put the male out of his misery, then continued sprinting in the direction the drone had taken. Every few second he switched modes in his biomask, following the heat left by the human running from the drone. Then the path left by the drone.

The hallway they were in was a disaster. It should have forked, but the left path was completely caved in, like some of the other corridors. The drone had found its prey—expected, considering how fast they were and how hard it was to navigate the ship in a human's limited range of sight.

Her. Again.

Still alive? Curious.

Not for long, though. She was on the ground, crawling away from the hunting drone. Neither had noticed him, though the human wouldn't while he was in camouflage. The drone, however, was too wrapped up with its quarry.

When it neared, the girl lashed out. She had a piece of scrap in her hands, and the blow was clean: headshot.

There wasn't enough strength in it. If she'd been yautja, it might have done some damage.

She was still only human. Their ingenuity was their strength. Their tenacity, will to live. When cornered, they were the most dangerous. She was no soldier, no warrior, but it was easy to see she had the potential for it. One so young, with so much fight for a female of their species.

Was there no end to the surprises this one had?

For all her fight, though, the drone was too much. All the fiery spirit bottled in her meant nothing if she hadn't refined it.

His legs carried him forward. His hand snatched out to grab the drone's tail before it could strike the final blow. Despite being able to lose her, she'd proven herself capable. She'd managed to find another human when he couldn't yet find a living yautja. She'd fought back despite the overwhelming odds and had stood her ground against even him.

Just a human.

He gripped the drone's tail with both hands and dropped his cloak. The _kiande amedha_ had only enough time to growl before Sha'ktil-ar hurled it across the room, slamming it into a wall. It fell to the floor, stunned, and he drew his spear to finish it off with a swift thrust through its head.

When the last rattle of death fell silent, he pulled his spear free and flicked the creature's acidic blood from the surface before putting it away.

It was easy when you had the right gear and discipline. Both things she severely lacked.

"Have you been following me?"

Sha'ktil-ar turned on her with a growl, surprised by how high-pitched her voice seemed. At least she had spoken clearly enough for the translator to catch it. Following _her_? How presumptuous. What would he have gained from following her? He scoffed at the very notion.

Her back was to the wall, and she was standing. He approached her and she tensed, but didn't back down from him.

 _"Have you been following me?"_ he threw back at her. As if he didn't already know the answer.

After a second, she asked him if he could understand her. He waited for his biomask to translate, then considered ignoring her. However, he decided she'd earned at least a little bit of his time, so he indicated in a way that she would understand that yes, he could understand her.

This seemed to baffle her. She was quiet for a while, but he was a little irritated with how relaxed she was becoming. Had she stopped considering him a threat?

At last, she spoke again.

"I asked you first."

Who did this little human think she was? There was such a thing as too much spirit, and he demanded more respect than that. With an indignant huff, he shoved her aside and made his way back down the hall toward the med bay. He still needed to figure out how bad his wounds were.

He didn't make it far before she was after him again, making demands. He whirled around to face her, surprised by how brazen she was. She wanted to come with him? Sha'ktil-ar could tell at a glance that there wasn't much she could help with. She had no weapon, she wasn't physically strong. Her performance with that drone had been subpar.

"I can be bait, or if you give me a weapon I can fight!"

Another ridiculous notion. As if he'd trust her with a weapon. She'd probably be far more useful in a fight with one, but humans were unpredictable. He'd have to figure out just how trustworthy she really was—how likely it was that she'd try to backstab him.

As if she could actually kill him, but it would be an inconvenience if she managed to sneak in an attack when he wasn't paying attention.

But bait. . . .

Maybe she'd be useful. At the very least, it would be another living creature to hunt with. Humans were ungainly, and she had shown a few clumsy tendencies. She could draw the drones out, and he could end their existences.

And, maybe he could see more of this fiery spirit she had. If anything, she could be entertaining.

Fine. She could accompany him.

What did he have to lose?


	5. She Stays

**Hello, readers!**

 **I held off on posting this right away because I thought I'd just...release it for the holiday (for those of you in the US like me. I'm not actually sure where you're all from!) as a kind of July 4th present of sorts. However, I was only able to get this chapter and a chapter for Noctuary done this month, instead of my usual three (or seven, depending on how many chapters I get edited for Phantasm). Work's got me slaving away and working more afternoon shifts instead of morning shifts.**

 **Which, you know, is better for my sleep but worse for my writing haha. That, and I'm trying to work on an original story, so it might be a smidge harder to get 3 fic chapters out a month, but I'll still try.**

 **Also also, I'm pregnant.**

 **So. There's that. Hadn't really been expecting that when I made my "three chapters a month" resolution at the beginning of the year heh. Enough about me, though! I'm going to (once again) try really hard to reply to as many reviews as I can, so feel free to hound me with questions or concerns about the story! :D Enjoy the chapter! I was lazy and copy/pasted this from my _Starry Skies_ A/N. ** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

She Stays

A brief look at things from Wolf's POV when they meet up with Brutus. Rated T, I guess.

* * *

Clua-lsih'wei—the humans called her by a different name, of course—had come this way, he'd been sure of it. The large beast they'd been fighting had chased her through the ship, and he was impressed with how she'd managed to navigate the halls when he knew how poor they saw in the dark compared to most creatures on earth.

More so than that, he had been somewhat caught off guard when she'd cut off the thing's tail.

He'd thrown the adolescent human behind the giant drone so she wouldn't impede his fight with it and hadn't expected her to engage, let alone _succeed_ in injuring the thing. Maybe finding her with that dead drone hadn't been a fluke.

But where had she gone?

Maybe he'd imagined that spark of light in the darkness. The bright heat of something within the walls of the ship.

No, he hadn't imagined it.

But maybe he'd been mistaken in assuming it was his little human. She'd been heading down the halls, chased by the subterranean _kiande amedha_. It wouldn't have been unheard of for her to wiggle into a hole to safety, but if that heat signature he'd caught a glimpse of was her, she wasn't answering his reassuring calls.

Perhaps it had just been a stray discharge of electricity, or even a small earth creature that had been trying to escape the cold.

It would find no safety on the ship, but it wouldn't have been the first time it happened.

Sha'ktil-ar gave it another few seconds, another soft beckon, then straightened up and left to continue tracking down his large quarry. It might have chased her further in, and he didn't want to linger too long if that was the case.

The thing would be easier to kill if it was busy going after her.

He couldn't help but think that the heartbeat his mask had picked up had been in line with patterns he'd picked up from her—mostly when she was in the heat of a fight or fearful. At the very least, he'd assumed it was human. If it was her, though, and she simply refused to come out of her hole, then he'd just have to leave her there.

She was still too flighty for his tastes, and more emotional than he cared for, but he kept reminding himself that she was only human. A young one, at that. She had potential, but he couldn't expect her to be anything more than what she was—without any real training or conditioning, anyway.

There could be time for that later, if she lived through the rest of the cleanup.

Sure, she'd killed an adult drone on her own, but he'd only caught the tail end of the exchange. He'd need to see more from her before he decided to keep her around after the fact.

Depending on how she handled killing the queen, or if she could pull herself together long enough to help with the murderous _kiande amedha_ stalking through the ship, she might earn a more permanent position by his side. Not as bait, but maybe as a protégé.

 _If_ she lived and _if_ she could surpass her weak human constitution.

He'd seen it already during the fiasco with those other humans they'd found. She'd let her emotions overcome her and she hadn't been able to do what was needed. The young one hadn't even let _him_ do what was needed, instead leaving it to the only mature human with them.

Then she'd fallen apart and he'd had to forcibly drag her away to safety after the commotion had drawn the attention of the giant _kiande amedha._ He snorted in irritation at the memory.

 _Only human,_ he reminded himself yet again.

It was easy to forget when she surprised him by wandering off on her own, only to bring down a full-grown drone. How she continued to surpass his expectations when she picked herself back up even after injured. Her resistance to physical shock was admirable, but that was true for most humans. Still too fragile to begin with, but it was something to be said for them as a species.

He couldn't even say the same thing for some of the creatures he regularly hunted. That was, however, the reason why humans were only for the most experienced. A missing limb was a fatal wound to most, but a human would get up and keep fighting.

Well—the trained warrior-class humans, anyway. She would still be easy prey for even a young and inexperienced yautja.

Up ahead, the _kiande amedha_ he was tracking down bellowed. Sha'ktil-ar paused, then berated himself for dropping his guard. He sprinted the rest of the way, trusting the grid crawling across his mask's heads-up display to guide him through the monochromatic hallway.

Then, there was another sound. A familiar taunt he'd heard time and again during a hunt. He'd given up the thought that he'd find another member of the clan that hadn't died in the crash or been killed by the rampaging beast, but there was someone up ahead, locked in combat by the sounds of all the snarling and mid-combat insults.

 _Ra-ilt._

His brief moment of relief at knowing there was another survivor was replaced by a general concern for his pint-sized companion. Sha'ktil-ar, however, found nothing but Ra-ilt's heat signature. No human alive, dead, or dying.

She would have to wait, even if it was disconcerting that he hadn't heard hide nor hair of her since she'd started running. Normally, she made a lot of noise—the whole reason he called her Clua-lsih'wei in the first place. Maybe at first he'd brought her along to play the bait, but now it made him cringe every time she stomped along.

But he hadn't caught wind of her once since she'd run off. For now, he'd just have to trust that she'd show up like she usually did. If not. . . .

Well, that'd be a damn shame.

Sha'ktil-ar rounded one last corner and launched himself right into the fight. The subterranean _kiande amedh_ had its back to him and it bucked in surprise as he landed on it. He held on with his wrist blades lodged to the hilt between its jagged shoulder blades.

"This is under control!" Ra-ilt growled from in front of the _kiande amedha_.

With a snort, Sha'ktil-ar said, "I have been chasing this since the beginning. Count yourself lucky that I am willing to share."

The other yautja clicked his tusks in irritation but took advantage of Sha'ktil-ar's sudden appearance all the same. Their enemy was snarling and slamming into the tight walls, trying hard to dislodge the warrior on its back. Ra-ilt ducked underneath a lashing claw and slashed with his wrist blades, cutting open another gash in its chest.

It screeched and rounded on him, opening Sha'ktil-ar to strike. He pulled his weapon free and with a smooth swing of his arm, cut through its thick neck. The beast staggered and Sha'ktil-ar jumped back to solid ground.

Much smoother with the help of a seasoned _sain'ja._

His blow hadn't quite been strong enough to remove the creature's head, but it was teetering perilously on its shoulders. Ra-ilt waited for it to stumble forward, then swung his own blades to chop at the same wound Sha'ktil-ar had inflicted. He pressed himself against the wall as the thing collapsed, its massive head hanging on by a few sinewy threads.

They waited as the body twitched a few times, the jaws still snapping in weak bursts. Acidic blood pooled underneath it, filling the hall with a loud, burning hiss. The corpse sunk into the ground, and Ra-ilt edged around it to stand with Sha'ktil-ar.

"I could have handled it," Ra-ilt snorted after a few seconds of silence passed.

Huffing, Sha'ktil-ar didn't bother dignifying him with a response and took a few steps toward the corpse to look beyond it, but it was too large and blocked most of the hall.

"Have you found others?" he asked without turning to Ra-ilt.

"None alive."

Nodding once, Sha'ktil-ar wedged himself around the corpse. "We have crashed on _N'ithya_."

Ra-ilt chuffed his acknowledgement, then asked, "Did you have a plan?"

"Kill as many _kiande amedha_ as I can while I search for their queen. Kill her. Check the surrounding area for any drones and ensure a full-scale infestation does not happen," he replied without skipping a beat.

"I meant about getting off this planet," Ra-ilt muttered.

"You think a distress signal has not already been sent?"

"It is not that."

Sha'ktil-ar turned back after finding no signs of his little human on the other side of the hall. Ra-ilt would have mentioned her if he'd seen her—his earlier question being somewhat leading—and it was likely that he had come from the opposite direction and would have seen her.

"You think no one will come."

"Our ship crashed because of a dumb, rookie mistake. Would you come?"

"Yes."

As if he didn't believe him, Ra-ilt rumbled in contempt, but Sha'ktil-ar interrupted him before he could make a biting remark. "If not to rescue, then to be certain that the _kiande amedha_ do not take out an entire planet. Especially one that yields such honorable trophies."

"I suppose," Ra-ilt harrumphed.

Both went rigid at the sudden sound of footsteps coming from down the hallway. Both knew immediately it wasn't _kiande amedha._ They were quiet—the current corpse excluded—and there was only one thing on the ship that would be that loud while moving.

A human.

And, as if on cue, they called out. Sha'ktil-ar recognized her voice and felt pleased. Had he not already expected her to show up at some point, he might have been more surprised.

After all, he caught up to the large drone and hadn't found her body. She'd had to be alive.

 _"Wolf! Wolf there you are. I got stuck, and—"_

However, he was still stuck on the other side of the corpse. Ra-ilt growled a warning and turned on the approaching girl, his shoulder-mounted cannon whirring to life. He announced, "A stray _ooman._ It has one of our weapons."

Hurrying around the dead _kiande amedha,_ Sha'ktil-ar had to make it to him before he made all that work he'd done with her moot.

It was certainly Clua-lsih'wei. The way she held herself, even with the threat of another yautja aiming his weapon at her, and her babbling was unmistakable. Sha'ktil-ar managed to shove Ra-ilt as he fired, sending the plasma bolt veering off course.

Still, she'd thrown herself out of the way, arms up to protect herself from the raining debris caused by his shot.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ra-ilt demanded, rounding on his clan mate.

"She is with me," he said, standing taller and squaring his chest.

Taken aback, Ra-ilt leaned away from him but refused to look away from the human, even if she was only in his sidelong glance. " _She_? _With_ you? That—thing?" He turned his full attention back to the noisy girl who was slowly standing up but trying to stay small.

Not a difficult task.

She was already tiny in comparison to them.

"Is it even full grown? Look at it! What in the hunt's name are you keeping it around for? _Entertainment_?" Ra-ilt asked.

"She has proved herself useful and—yes, somewhat entertaining," Sha'ktil-ar replied. He was making an effort to stay calm but authoritative and keep his human in the corner of his eye. As usual, she was standing but crouched, unsure of herself.

Ra-ilt was unconvinced. He snorted and shoved his clan mate aside, marching toward the nervous adolescent. Sha'ktil-ar matched him stride for stride, though, and shunted Ra-ilt into the wall.

"She is _with me_!" he snarled. The two continued to posture and push one another as they bickered back and forth.

"Have you gone soft? The _pyode amedha_ are for hunting!"

"This one is too young."

"Then why would you _keep_ it? Just abandon it and it will die on its own."

Irritated, Sha'ktil-ar spat, "She killed a drone—on her own. She has courage and spirit."

His fellow clan member stopped and turned his head toward the girl. He couldn't deny that she hadn't yet run from them, though she was likely too daft to realize what was going on. To think that the little whelp had killed a drone by herself was somewhat unbelievable. Ra-ilt looked back to his companion in disbelief. "An adolescent?"

"See for yourself if you don't believe me," he invited, taking a step away from Ra-ilt.

He wasted no time in unsheathing his wrist blades as he appraised the human. Before Ra-ilt could launch right into a merciless onslaught, Sha'ktil-ar gave him a reminder. "Remember, she is still young and unrefined."

"Fine. I will go easy on it."

Her blood pressure spiked when Ra-ilt approached, but she was still able to lift her weapon as he bore his down on her. He was projecting his moves, taking all the finesse and subtlety out of his attacks. The strength was still there, and she was buckling under some of his blows, but she was at least able to parry each one until she found an opening and escaped him, jogging to Sha'ktil-ar's side.

Though he half expected her to maybe hide behind him, she stood her ground just in front of him. Her limbs shook somewhat, but she had enough pride to stand straight at least.

"She is sloppy," Ra-ilt commented, "and her form is lacking."

"As I said, she is young and unrefined."

Ra-ilt snorted, but put his blades away. "I do not like this."

"You do not have to. She is my responsibility, and she stays."

They started to make their way forward again. Sha'ktil-ar's unorthodox companion kept glancing at him, looking for an explanation that wouldn't come, but she had ceased the chattering she was normally known for.

With a disdainful chuff, Ra-ilt quipped, "At least until she gets herself killed."


	6. Unprecedented Initiation

**Hello, readers!**

 **Sorry for the long silence. I'm trying to get chapters out and edit my original novel all while tending to my newborn baby girl. I ended up needing an emergency c-section so recovery was a little longer, and I'm alone most of the time with her since my husband works, but I'm getting into the swing of things, I think. My updates might be of their usual quality, though, as I'll be kind of pressed for time. I'm always going through and editing/revising, though, so feel free to point out anything really awful.**

 **Anyway, I have plenty of ideas for more one-shots, but I'm always open to fresh requests and ideas! There should be another one coming up here soon that someone requested, so stay tuned for that. :) Here pretty soon I'll start up some Nightmare edits, and then after that, I'll get to work on Insomnia. Promise.**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Unprecedented Initiation

Wolf's side of Nichole breaking her leg and being blooded. Requested by Mincemeats.

* * *

Sha'ktil-ar couldn't understand what the girl was fussing about. It was a quick jump, and it certainly wasn't a long fall. If they didn't jump off as Ra-ilt already had, they'd be badly injured once the ship hit something or slid straight off a cliff.

Surely, she could see the logic even if he couldn't communicate it.

Maybe she needed another demonstration. Clua-lsih'wei, for all her vim and vigor, sure had reservations about the strangest of things. She had already seen Ra-ilt make the leap, but that still wasn't enough to convince her?

When she refused to respond to his beckons, he finally marched over and grabbed her, hauling her over to the opening. She struggled vainly, going so far as to brace herself to keep from going overboard. As if he would be so cruel as to toss her over—that would have been a sure-fire way for her to be injured.

Not that he hadn't considered it.

"We need to leave, now. Neither of us have the time for this," he said, well aware that his words were wasted on her.

She took her time considering the jump. Bending, leaning, calculating. Sha'ktil-ar tensed with each passing second, wondering when she was going to do it. If he would have to push her or leave her, or maybe just jump first and let her follow his lead.

 _"_ _Jump with me?"_ she finally requested. The translation of her question scrawled across his HUD.

"If it will get us off this thing," he grunted.

They stood together and Sha'ktil-ar watched her for signs that she was going to balk, but she seemed steady enough. When he was certain, he gave the command and launched himself off the sliding ship. He stuck the landing in a flurry of snow, barely losing his footing as inertia tried to carry his momentum onward.

He straightened up to look for his pet project. She would be the only bright spot in the otherwise cold, dark void of a world that she called home. The ship slid out of view, knocking over trees and ripping a gouge down the side of the mountain. Clua-lsih'wei had landed farther away—much farther than mere momentum would have carried her. Had she rolled down the incline? He waited a few heartbeats to see if she would stand, but she didn't so much as move.

Tusks clicking in concern, he started toward her body but was called to a stop by Ra-ilt.

"Sha'ktil-ar, your noisy little 'warrior' has no coordination. I've seen newborns preform with more grace than she did just now," the other seasoned _sain'ja_ snorted as he approached.

With a huff, Sha'ktil-ar ignored his comrade and hurried down the slope to the girl's side. She was doubled over on her side and unmoving, so he rolled her onto her back to see if that would wake her. When it didn't, he pulled up her vitals and was less than pleased with her blood pressure and rapid, shallow breaths. After a quick scan, he found several fractures in both legs, and one patella was nearly shattered.

Ra-ilt arrived and drew his wrist blades. In a matter of fact tone, he said, "It would be best to put it out of its misery."

Growling, Sha'ktil-ar shoved Ra-ilt. When he stubbornly held his ground, he boxed Ra-ilt back and away from his human while saying, "You and I both know these are not fatal wounds. She will be fine, but we must find a sheltered area before we are spotted by hostiles."

"They are not fatal _now_ , but we do not have the supplies to tend to its wounds. The short stint in this frozen wasteland is already weakening it. It will not survive if we can't keep it warm."

"She will be fine," Sha'ktil-ar insisted. "She is strong."

Unconvinced, Ra-ilt said, "It is _broken_."

"She'll heal."

Ra-ilt snorted and stormed off up the hill toward the trees that hadn't been stripped by the ship. "I already began scouting somewhere to regroup while you and the _ooman_ dawdled on the ship. Grab your _pet_ and let us go."

Tusks clicking in irritation, Wolf returned his attention to the girl. "I do not wish to carry her around until we have a destination. It might exacerbate her injury."

"Keep talking like that, Sha'ktil-ar, and I will have to challenge you to combat to prove you have not fallen soft," Ra-ilt snarled.

He didn't dignify Ra-ilt with a response and gave the girl one last check, decided she wasn't in danger of falling prey to cold for the time being, and followed the other yautja.

There were plenty of sheltered places once within the trees. They were in the process of securing a perimeter when they heard her.

"The _ooman_ mewls for you," Ra-ilt sneered.

Sha'ktil-ar flexed his fingers, growing tired of Ra-ilt's jibes, then headed back out to retrieve her. If he wasn't quick, she might panic and try something stupid.

No, she _would_ try something stupid.

The ship had long since crashed to a halt near the bottom of a ravine. He and Ra-ilt had decided to go see what could be salvaged, and the latter set out for it while Sha'ktil-ar tended to the girl.

She was upright but hadn't moved from where he'd left her. However, she fell back into the snow as if in defeat and Wolf hastened to her side.

Startled as he peered over her, she hurt herself in her fright and curled into the fetal position. Wolf harrumphed and said, "Do not make any unnecessary movements."

He kneeled and helped turn her onto her back. She made a pained noise, but neither of them knew what to do about it.

Eventually, she uncurled from her ball and took a few pained, shallow breaths.

And then she was off.

 _"_ _Why did you make me jump!"_ she demanded, making him dodge a few sloppy swings. _"You should have carried me!"_

Carried her? What a ridiculous notion.

"Ra-ilt and I made the jump fine, I thought you would be unharmed, as well," he explained, his palms up to indicate that he was yielding to her.

Of course, she couldn't understand what he said. She calmed all the same, though.

He hoped she wouldn't have any more outbursts, otherwise, she might worsen the fracture in her ribs and cause some real damage to her lungs. Then there truly would be nothing he could do for her.

When he was certain she wasn't going to make another scene and her heart rate evened out, he took her by the arm and encouraged her to stand with a deep rumble in his chest. He was surprised when she clung to him, refusing to put any weight on her legs—not even a little.

"Stand," he said, tugging her upward.

She begged him to put her back down and he rattled in dissatisfaction. Any yautja would have been able to function almost normally with those wounds, so why—

Right. She was only human.

At her behest, he put her back down and considered his options. He grumbled to himself about the whole situation and she clung to him for an extra second or two before letting go.

How could something so strong also be so delicate at the same time?

While she babbled about the kind of care her injuries required—as if he needed to be told how to fix a broken limb—he tried to figure out the best way to haul her up the mountain.

Certainly, she couldn't weigh that much, so carrying her wouldn't be an issue. It was _how_ he was going to carry her.

He decided on the best course of action after she finished babbling at him and situated himself behind her. Without offering any warning, he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her up, tucking the girl under his arm so her limbs dangled toward the ground.

"Don't squirm," Sha'ktil-ar muttered, glancing down at her before heading off. He tried not to jostle her too much since his arm was just below her rib cage.

Thankfully, she held as still as she could. For the first time since he met her, she wasn't yammering on about anything or asking questions.

He'd thought it impossible for her to be silent. Apparently, the pain kept her quiet.

Or was it shame?

Emotions were so hard to read on humans sometimes. Her face and neck had brightened with a rush of heat and blood, so maybe it was shame. They used their facial muscles to express, as well, but those he could not discern as easily.

Ra-ilt should have been finished with surveying the wreckage by now. Sha'ktil-ar couldn't see him around their temporary shelter, however.

After clearing stray rocks away from an area for her to sit, he dropped Clua-lsih'wei. She grunted but had plenty of time to brace herself with her arms so she didn't land on her chest.

Of course, she still complained about the entire thing anyway.

He glared at her, shoulders square and chest out. Did she not understand that he was doing a tremendous amount of favors for her? He was even about to offer her the highest praise available to anyone who had successfully killed the _kiande amedha._

What a mouthy little runt!

However, she seemed to catch on and not only apologized but thanked him. He huffed with satisfaction and nodded.

"Are you finished, Ra-ilt?" he called, aware that his companion had finally shown up.

"Yes," came his reply before he jumped down from the branch on which he'd been perched. He hadn't been there long.

"Find anything?"

"Nothing worth taking. A fire had started. It won't be long before the whole thing explodes," Ra-ilt recounted.

Sha'ktil-ar nodded and asked, "Will you pose witness to her blooding?"

Ra-ilt made a strangled choking sound and snapped his tusks together. "What? Tell me you did not just ask for me to—"

"I did."

The other yautja stormed toward him and Sha'ktil-ar braced himself for an attack, but one didn't come. Not a physical one, anyway.

"Are you _insane_?" Ra-ilt snarled. "It is an _ooman_! It cannot be blooded. It cannot be inducted into our clan. There is no clan to be inducted _to_ anymore!"

Before Sha'ktil-ar could say anything else, Ra-ilt reiterated, "And it is _not_ yautja!"

"She killed not one, but two _kiande amedha_. Perhaps more. She was most helpful during our fight with the queen. This you cannot deny, Ra-ilt. She has done more to earn this right than most yautja new bloods do," he countered.

Ra-ilt snorted. "An _ooman_ could kill ten queens and I still would not agree."

"You do not have to agree with me. I am within my rank and my rights to blood her. She has met the requirements."

They stared at one another for a while, communicating with small gestures and growls, until Ra-ilt turned away with an irritated chitter. "Do as you like, then."

"I will. You will witness?"

"I am here. I know what you are doing. That should be witness enough."

Satisfied for the most part, Sha'ktil-ar pulled out the digit of a drone. One that had come from Clua-lsih'wei's own kill, as tradition dictated.

He turned to face her. She was shivering, but her core temperature still read the same, so he wasn't concerned for her health—yet. There was still the issue of how they were going to keep her from falling ill or dying to the cold while they waited for rescue.

If it came.

For now, he had to initiate her. Though he had no way of explaining the ritual to her, what it meant, or his intentions, he had to do it before the _kiande amedha's_ blood was rendered inert.

It should have been enough time for it to lose some potency. Humans were thin-skinned, so he hoped it wasn't still too strong. He didn't want a few drops of their corrosive blood melting away her skin and muscle—only a small but noticeable scar was needed. Severe tissue damage was not.

She looked up at him as he approached, wondering aloud what he needed.

No, he couldn't explain now. Eventually, though, he would be able to. He'd have the time to explain when he had the chance to work with her. Blooding her made her a warrior of their clan, even if she were not of their species.

The road ahead would be difficult for her, but he would be there as a buffer to vouch for her and help her prove herself to those that would challenge him and her place. She was tough. She would make a name for herself in no time. Sha'ktil-ar knew he was making the right decision, and she _had_ more than proven herself worthy to be blooded.

Worthy of the title _sain'ja._


	7. Left Behind

**Hello, readers!**

 **Here's another one-shot for you, fresh off the presses. This may or may not be the last one that follows Phantasm, it just depends on what I think of or what you guys request! I think most of Phantasm's interesting POV changes are covered, though. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this one. There are definitely more to come for Nightmare when I get around to them!**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Left Behind

The night Nichole declines to go with Wolf, from his POV. Rated T. Requested by guest Whoops.

* * *

"What, exactly, are we waiting for?"

" _I_ am waiting for night to fall. You do not have to be here and I did not ask for you to come."

Ra-ilt snorted. "What else am I to do on this dark, frozen mountain? I may as well continue observing you and your pet."

Sha'ktil-ar chittered in annoyance. "She is not a _pet_. Clua-lsih'wei has been blooded and is a sain'ja. You will treat her with the respect her rank deserves."

"I am still not sure she deserves the title at all and you do not out-rank me. I will do as I please."

There was no point in arguing with Ra-ilt when he felt this way, so Sha'ktil-ar merely clicked his tusks in disapproval. The sensor in his mask indicated that the sun had a little while longer before it disappeared into the horizon, so he was stuck with Ra-ilt's terrible company until then.

They skulked in silence, hidden within a tree that had needles instead of leaves, their cloaks up for good measure.

After several minutes, Ra-ilt once again asked, " _What_ are we waiting for? She is there and alone, except for that animal."

"She wishes to speak with me in the cover of darkness. I suspect she does not want the rest of her family unit to discover our interaction," Sha'ktil-ar explained, sounding almost bored.

All he received was a grunt in response.

"Your pet has a pet," Ra-ilt pointed out after another moment's pause.

"She is not a pet!"

Ignoring Sha'ktil-ar's ire, Ra-ilt continued with his line of pestering. "She still hobbles about like an invalid. How long does it take humans to heal?"

"Their medicine is lacking."

"Obviously."

Finally, the sun fully set and the area was swathed in darkness. Sha'ktil-ar switched through his mask's vision ranges to make sure that the other members of her household were not within range before he stood, planning to confront her.

"Are you sure you want such a scrawny thing coming with us? She has such a weak baseline. The work to train her might not be worth the results," Ra-ilt growled.

Without looking at him, Sha'ktil-ar responded, "Yes. You saw her just as I did on that ship. You are simply too close-minded to care."

"Or, perhaps you are too open-minded to see reason."

"We will see. She may not come yet, anyway. When we last spoke, she said she had matters to attend to," he admitted. "Seven solar cycles may not have been enough time."

"We _are not_ waiting any more for her."

"I know."

"The Untamed will be here to pick us up when next the sun rises," Ra-ilt continued.

"I know!"

On a roll, the other sain'ja kept talking. "We are lucky anyone was close enough to pick up our distress signal at all. I refuse to be stuck here any longer because of your project."

Snarling, Sha'ktil-ar whirled around and boxed Ra-ilt in the chest, nearly knocking him off the branch on which he stood. " _I know_!"

Before he could be retaliated against, Sha'ktil-ar leaped out of the tree and descended the hillside. He could still hear Ra-ilt muttering obscenities as he set out to confront Clua-lsih'wei.

The wooden barrier around their family's territory was easy enough to jump over, and that four-legged beast was already trying to alert the entire area that he was coming. It didn't seem to bother anyone inside the building, though, so he did his best to ignore its barking.

He was certain it couldn't see him, but the animal knew he was there all the same. It was no wonder the humans liked to keep them around.

They'd been playing some sort of game where Clua-lsih'wei would throw something and the animal would collect it and bring it back. He didn't see any point to it except to maybe tire the thing out or test how obedient it is. He'd interrupted that, though, and now it's attention was only for him.

She seemed to understand what was going on and he watched as she tried to bring her pet back in line, but it refused to remove itself from between him and her.

A protector. Sha'ktil-ar could respect loyalty like that.

He decided to test that loyalty by dropping his cloak and revealing himself. If the animal—he recalled they were called canines—figured out that he wasn't some wild animal, it might back off.

It did not, however. No amount of crooning from his protégé calmed it down, either.

 _"_ _It's okay. He shouldn't hurt you."_

Sha'ktil-ar snorted in contempt. "Do I look worried to you?"

Maybe she couldn't understand him, but she wasn't going to learn how to if he didn't speak to her at all.

Finally, he approached. He expected the display to be just that—a display. Some creatures put on a brave front only to bolt at the first sign of real danger.

This canine did not. It—or he, as Clau-lsih'wei had said—only snarled with more menace. This didn't stop him from continued his forward progress. However, the canine took exception to him ignoring the warnings and charged.

 _"_ _Atlas, no!"_

That must have been the canine's name. Sha'ktil-ar stopped walking, genuinely surprised by the canine's resolve to protect his master.

He raised his wrist a fraction, wondering if he was actually going to have to defend himself. The human girl, however, called out to him with a desperate plea; _"Wolf, don't hurt—"_

Atlas stopped within arm's reach, barking and baring his fangs. He was furious, every strand of fur standing on end and hackles raised. This canine was serious. It didn't matter to him how much larger Sha'ktil-ar was. It didn't matter that he didn't know what manner of being he was.

The canine was going to protect his master.

She wished for her pet not to be harmed, so Sha'ktil-ar lowered his arm and popped a squat in front of Atlas, meeting his gaze while Clua'lsih-wei made the arduous journey over to them.

They stared at each other, neither ready to back down, until she finally made it over and grabbed a hold of her pet.

After a shared moment between master and canine, Sha'ktil-ar grunted his acknowledgement for the dog. "A most honorable guardian. Have you finished what you needed to do?"

Clua-lsih'wei stared at him, then seemed to figure out what he wanted and said, _"I can't go with you."_

He would have liked to have been surprised by this revelation, but he had been expecting something like this. Sha'ktil-ar tilted his head and waited, knowing she must have a reason.

She babbled on about a hunt that she needed to complete on her planet. A task that he had yet to finish. When she was one, only then would she be free to join him. However, she failed to detail what kind of hunt, but Sha'ktil-ar figured that it didn't matter.

It was hers to complete.

He stood, and she followed suit. "A noble enough cause," he rattled, dipping his head and shaking her shoulder.

When she tried to return the gesture, she lost her balance. He clicked his tusks once and grabbed her arm so she wouldn't fall. Her canine companion growled and jerked forward, but did not attack.

Apparently, Atlas had figured out he wasn't a threat, but he _was_ an unknown. That alone elicited the warnings Sha'ktil-ar kept receiving.

As if the canine was saying "I am watching you, so you better behave."

She promised that when she was ready, Clua-lsih'wei would find a way to contact him. He rumbled with amusement: she clearly had no idea how she was going to accomplish that.

There was only one way. He had trusted her while they fought side by side, so Sha'ktil-ar had to believe that he could trust her with their technology. He hesitated for a few heartbeats, then unlocked the handheld computer on his gauntlet before removing it and handing it to the girl.

 _"_ _What do I do?"_ she asked.

As if he wasn't going to explain.

Leaning in, he pantomimed the sequence that was his personal call sign. It would be programmed into any ship he owned or any personal computers he used. Then, he made her do it as well—as many times as he felt necessary.

When satisfied, he allowed her some personal space again.

She had more questions, of course—any excuse for her to make noise, he mused—and he answered them the best he could, given the language barrier.

Since she seemed otherwise satisfied, he gave her a pat on the head. Then, he spared her canine one last look before turning to leave.

He stopped, however, after remembering something. Before the ship had been destroyed to keep the humans from using their technology, he and Ra-ilt had scavenged and salvaged what they could to make their stay on Earth a little more bearable.

One of the things salvaged had been the queen's skull. They'd stripped it for trophy pieces, and Clua-lsih'wei deserved her share.

Sha'ktil-ar untied the trophy trinket he had made her and held it out. She took it from him easily enough and looked it over. It wasn't much, just a set of teeth and a few other small odds and ends, but anyone who saw it would know where they came from.

 _"_ _Is this—are these from the queen?"_ she asked him. When he answered in the positive, she looked it over with what he interpreted as awe.

Pointing first to the mark he'd left on her and then to the trophy, he said, "The mark and this trophy will ensure that everyone knows who you are and what you did. Keep it on you if you can."

She remained silent—a miracle, to be sure—and held her trophy to her with reverence. He gave her the moment, then gave her a simple nod when she thanked him. He hadn't done much, just spared her life and gave her the means to succeed on her own. However, her gratitude was appreciated all the same.

Before he left her, he turned his attention to Atlas. He was still tense and ready to attack, but had ceased his growling.

"You are a noble beast," he told the canine.

Atlas did not answer.

With that, Sha'ktil-ar returned to his cloak and jumped back over the wooden wall. He planned to meet Ra-ilt back in their tree, but the other _sain'ja_ was waiting nearby on the ground.

"You gave her our technology?" he demanded, shoving Sha'ktil-ar. "That is treason! The humans cannot have—"

He cut off his tirade with a sharp gesture. "She is one of us. I trust her with it, and she will need to be able to contact me when and if she wishes to join me in the hunt."

Ra-ilt snorted and made another attempt to accost him. "She will not! Have you not noticed? She is a scared child, Sha'ktil-ar. Even if she _did_ decide to call, she would never make it. Fear is not the way of the _yautja_!"

"She is not _yautja_."

"So you do realize."

"Of course I do," Sha'ktil-ar huffed. "And that is why her fear does not bother me. It is a weakness for us, but for her and other humans, it is a strength."

Ra-ilt chittered in disbelief. "And how do you figure that?"

Sha'ktil-ar straightened his back. "For some humans, yes, fear makes them weak. It makes them freeze or clouds their judgement. But other humans, ones like her, it brings out the best in them. She fought with as much honor and courage as any _yautja_ would despite her fear. It did not make her weak, it made her strong."

"You are talking nonsense," Ra-ilt scoffed. "How can you come to such a conclusion?"

"She was terrified for the majority of the time we were together. I at first thought it was a sign of weakness, as you do, but at the times that she was the most scared, he fought the hardest. Where fear had stopped other humans we encountered, it drove her to action."

For a few heartbeats, Ra-ilt was silent. Then he shook himself and turned away. "You are crazy, Sha'ktil-ar. But she is not my responsibility, so do as you wish with her."

"I do not need your permission."

With a harrumph, Ra-ilt headed back into the mountain. Sha'ktil-ar looked back once more at the home of Clua-lsih'wei, then followed his surlier comrade to the pick-up zone.

 _Until we meet again, girl._


	8. Star-Crossed

**Hello, readers!**

 **Here's another little story based off a prompt for my facebook group's shipping event! This prompt was "Your platonic OTP" and you don't get more platonic than Devon and Nichole (not that Devon's too happy about that). So, I thought I'd try something new and wrote this in the first person from Devon's POV! It was a little bit out of my comfort zone since I usually only write Nichole in the first person, but I'm pretty satisfied with how this turned out.**

 **Also, I started making covers for each of these chapters! You can find a big gallery of the covers on imgur, just go to the site and add slash a** **/BFhJG at the end to go to the album! I don't have covers for all of them yet, but I'm working on it!**

 **Anyway, enjoy this little journey into Devon's mind!**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Star-Crossed

Upon transferring, Devon is assigned a new partner. Rated T.

* * *

A month ago, I was chasing down serial killers or booking felony criminals. A month ago, everything made sense and the world was small and fit in a neat little box.

Then, 29 days ago, _the Fire Nation attacked._

Just kidding, it was aliens.

And they didn't so much _attack_ as they did—just—exist. In general. I didn't get to see it, but I did see its ship. I guess the guy I was chasing down had been an abductee or something and they were checking in on their investment.

They picked a real winner.

But enough about that asshole. A few days after that, I was approached by someone in charge of a different department. One that dealt in those kinds of encounters.

You know, the _fourth kind_.

He told me they could offer me counseling if I needed it, but all I wanted was to know more. Aliens were real? The X-Files was an actual thing? Well fuck, why wouldn't I want to be part of that.

They were more than happy to have me—something about preferring people already privy to the information—and pushed the paperwork through.

After yet another background check, I was given the clearance and was added to the roster.

Easy peasy.

"Welcome to the team, Devon. We're glad to have you on board," my new boss greeted me as I entered his office.

"Glad to be here," I said.

"Your new partner should be here any minute. Today's her first day, fresh out of training."

"Not a transfer, like me?"

"Nope. She's got a lifetime's worth of experience with extraterrestrials, but she'll need help from a seasoned FBI agent, so we figured you two were a good match."

I nodded. "She teaches me about aliens, I teach her about the bureau."

He grinned and pointed at me. "Exactly."

A soft knocking came right then, and I turned around to find the possible "she" who was meant to be my partner.

 _Pretty enough. Looks young._

"Ah, Nichole. Come in."

She paused for a second, just long enough to check all the corners of the room first. "You wanted to see me as soon as I got in?"

Her gaze lingered on me, suspicious and uncertain. _"Who's this guy?"_ was what she seemed to say. I gave her a passive wave and she looked away as if I'd caught her staring or something.

"Yes," our boss said. "I want to introduce you to your partner, Devon Hart."

Some of the tension left her shoulders and she strode up to shake my hand. Firm and determined.

"Devon Hart, this is your partner Nichole Shain. I trust you'll take care of each other out there," he continued, motioning toward the two of us as we were mentioned.

"I look forward to working with you," Nichole said with a nod. She never quite met my gaze.

"The same. Hey, y'know, your name sounds kind of familiar."

She didn't mince words. "Probably saw me on the news a few years back. Though, the official story was terrorist attack."

Bossman Dixon filled in the gaps. "Few years ago, Nichole survived an alien attack. A ship crash-landed carrying a parasitic species. She was the only person to come out of that ship alive."

I raised my eyebrows and looked her over. "What were you doing on the ship?"

"Bad decisions, mostly. Wound up getting captured by one of them," she said. A muscle in her jaw tightened and I decided not to ask for any more details.

Things were starting to make sense, though. The thousand-yard stare as she looked past me, the way she'd scoped the room before entering—

 _She's seen some shit._

"Well, I'll show you two to your desks."

We followed Dixon out of his office and he pointed us at a pair of desks that were front-to-front. They were empty, save for a little plastic shelf for paperwork and a computer.

I had a box of shit waiting for me, though. My desk wouldn't be empty for long.

"Go ahead and get acquainted. There's just a few more things you need to fill out, mostly for HR. Just a lot of stuff to sign," Dixon said.

Nichole sat down at her desk and ran her hands over the top of it. "Okay, thanks."

Dixon glanced at me, I gave him the thumb's-up, and he nodded. "Alright, I'll leave you to it, then. See me if you have any questions."

The two of us muttered our understanding and I took a seat across from Nichole.

"So, uh, I couldn't help but notice your limp," I pointed out, trying to sound conversational. She seemed to be a lady of few words.

"What about it?"

"Did you injure your legs when the, uh, during the. . . thing?"

 _Smooth._

"Yes."

"Oh—okay."

I had to let it drop. That dark look that came to her face, though not directed at me, was deterrent enough.

"You're from Colorado, right?"

Nichole had already pulled out the HR paperwork and was dutifully going over it. "Yes."

 _Man, this girl is closed off._

"You gotten used to the lay of the land here, yet?" I pressed. I was going to pry _something_ out of her if it was the last thing I did.

Maybe I could even get her to _smile_.

She shrugged and said, "For the most part. Take the bus everywhere."

Okay, that was a start. Kind of. I tested my luck and asked, "Need help finding something fun to do on your time off?"

"I go to the gym and exercise and stuff."

"Sure, but I mean like, sights to see or the big shopping areas?"

Finally, her gaze shifted from her paperwork to me. However, it was a scathing look of disapproval.

"So, because I'm a woman I need to know where the shopping's at?"

 _Damn she's cranky!_

I laughed off her remark and said, "No, no. Everyone's gotta go shopping. I can point you to the cheap places if you're thrifty, or tell you which grocery store is the least busy. . . ."

Her hackles lowered, and she sighed. "Sorry. I just. . .I didn't get much sleep last night. That'd be great."

 _Alright, I'm in._

"No worries. We all have those days."

Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she had more than one.

Now didn't seem to be the time to ask her about the aliens she'd encountered. It all still seemed to be a wound not yet healed. I imagined there wasn't a _good_ time to talk about when you'd almost died, but I'd at least wait until the day after we were first acquainted.

"You want to ask."

I looked up to find her staring at me with a tired expression. Feigning ignorance, I asked, "What do you mean?"

"You want to ask what happened to me. You want to hear the story."

Scoffing, I offered an errant wave and leaned back in my seat. "Nah. What's there to know? You're here and alive and it was years ago. If you wanted to talk about it, you'd talk about it."

She studied me for a few seconds as if she was trying to decide if I was lying.

I was, but I was good at it.

Her defenses seemed to come down a little and her shoulders relaxed. "Everyone always wants to know," she muttered.

"Sure," I said with a shrug. "It was probably no easy feat, doing what you did. I'm sure people want you to regale them with your harrowing tale."

Nichole tapped her pen against the tabletop, staring once again at her paperwork. She said, "I guess."

Once again, she was a million miles away.

That only made me _more_ curious. Just what had she gone through?

But I had a lie to maintain.

I indicated at the paperwork in front of her. "Hey, there's going to be plenty more where that came from. Try not to take it so seriously."

"What do you mean?"

"This job is like, eighty percent paperwork. Then it's fifteen percent dealing with scummy lawyers. The rest is actual field work."

She made a face and whined. "Really?"

"Well, it was in my old department. Dunno how this one's gonna turn out. Good thing about aliens and the like is they can't afford lawyers," I pointed out with a grin.

The corner of her lip quirked upward. Almost a smile.

"Yeah, I suppose there's that."

"Alright, so I'll teach you what I know about how this whole FBI gig works, and when you feel up to it, you tell me about aliens and what I should expect," I suggested, shifting to I was leaning forward against the table.

Nichole nodded. "Alright, sure. You've got a deal."

The smile she offered me didn't quite reach her eyes, but I figured there would be plenty of time to coax out a real one while we were partners.


	9. Hindsight

**Hello, readers!**

 **If you have ideas for a one-shot you'd like to see, feel free to post it in a review or PM me!**

 **This one-shot will probably make more sense if you read _Vespertine_ , which was a fun little project I did based on the _Five Night's at Freddy's_ games. It still has Nichole in it, but there's possible spoilers for _Phantasm?_ Ah it's fine. It's only partially canon to the stories, anyway. Well, the contents of this particular one-shot it NOT CANON to the rest of the story, but _Vespertine_ as a whole is kind of canon.**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Hindsight

The very first April Fools chapter I wrote. It takes place during chapter seven of _Vespertine_. **Warning: blood and gore and possible feels.**

* * *

At four in the morning, I decided to check the cameras again and find the animatronics.

Foxy was the first robot I looked in on. The curtain was open wider and he was out of his cave, head cocked and hook raised up. He seemed to be the only animatronic that had glowing eyes, and I couldn't decide which one of the four was creepier.

"Where're you gonna go?" I whispered to the fake fox, squinting at the screen.

 _"What was that?"_ Devon asked through his earpiece.

"Nothing." _Just talking to inanimate objects._

Mr. Rabbit was back in the dining room, standing in the shadows in front of the camera. The stupid chicken had yet to remove herself from the bathrooms and continued to stare up at the camera with the same condescending expression.

With Foxy potentially on the loose, I found myself turning his monitor on a lot more frequently. He was an unknown, much like Freddy. When the moment came that Freddy stepped from his pedestal, I knew it would mean business. I had no idea what to expect when Foxy came, and I wanted to be ready for it, whatever it was.

"Devon," I called.

 _"What is it?"_

"I don't know what he's going to do." My voice shook, and I hated it.

He huffed and said, _"Just stay calm. Watch the cameras. Maybe close your door until you figure out what he's up to?"_

I shook my head. "I don't have the power to spare for that. I have two hours left, I can't let the battery drain." My heart thumped against my ribcage and blood roared in my ears. Every sense was on high alert and the muscles in my arms twitched, readying my reflexes.

Foxy was coming. I could feel it.

Bonnie moved to the hallway about fifteen minutes later. Time was dragging, and besides Foxy and Bonnie, none of the other animatronics were doing anything.

"I can't stand this waiting!" I groaned, slapping my palms against the table.

 _"Hey, careful what you wish for! This down time is a blessing. I don't think my heart can take any more surprises."_

Not like he was the one inside the wolf's den—or fox's den. No, he was safe inside a hotel room watching from a laptop. Rolling my eyes, I echoed my thoughts. "Oh _you_ can't take anymore surprises? That's rich, coming from you."

 _"Lady, I told ya I'd go in there instead."_

Huffing, I chose to ignore him and turned on the monitors one after the other again, trying to keep track of everyone. As soon as I turned on the stage camera, though, the feed cut and I had to restart some of the monitors. I accidentally turned on the kitchen monitor, mistaking it for the hall, and heard pots and pans clanging together—was Chica rooting around in there?

"What a fatass,"I muttered.

 _"Who?"_

I indicated toward the monitor before I shut it off. "The chicken thing's in the kitchen."

Once again Bonnie had moved to the corner of the hall, right behind my doors. I glowered at him, then shut off the cameras and listened to the rumbling sound of the generator. So much for saving power. My fingers curled in and out of fists. How was I going to make it the next hour and a half?

Outside in the hall, I heard something. I listened closely, then slammed on the monitor for the hallway. Adrenaline spiked. My muscles seized.

Sprinting down the west hallway, the first animatronic to move on-screen so far, was Foxy. Devon gasped in my ear.

 _"Holy—"_

The world slowed to a crawl. I whirled around in my chair, shoving it backwards as I stood up. It clattered against the wall and I reached for the door lock.

 _"—fuck!"_ Devon finished.

Inches away. My fingertips brushed the switch, but I retracted my hand at the last second: a shining hook swung down into the light. I snatched my digits back a heartbeat before I lost them. Foxy, tall and tattered, leaned into my tiny room. His jaw fell open and he screeched.

My stance widened. I held my arms out to my sides and I squared off with the robot. My fingers flexed where I wished I was holding a weapon. Any weapon

Foxy stepped toward me. Each step clacked loudly, his legs barren of the fur the other animatronics had. He was half endoskeleton, half mascot. In any other situation, I would have assumed he was a scarred warrior.

 _"Nichole, run! I'm coming!"_

Hart's voice cut through the slow motion filter on my brain. There was a loud fumbling in my ear—Hart dropping his headset. The world crashed on top of me. Every fiber of my being told me to stand and fight, but common sense and a strong survival instinct reminded me that it wouldn't work. I was unarmed and squishy. Foxy had his hook and was made of metal and circuitry. It was no contest.

So I turned, spinning on my heel, and ran for the other hallway.

Too late.

Something snagged my uniform. I heard tearing fabric, but it was put together too well and did not free me. I jerked to a stop and almost fell backwards, but was caught by a strong, steel grip.

Then I was being dragged backwards.

I flailed all of my limbs, kicking and throwing my weight into the robot fox pirate from Hell. He was a solid wall, unmovable and unforgiving. Each struggle made him squeeze harder until I couldn't breathe. I tried every self-defense move I knew, but it never budged him.

Hart said nothing. Five minutes, he had said earlier. Five minutes to reach the restaurant if he ran. If I could just get some leverage and last five minutes, then Hart could—Hart would—

What would he do?

What _could_ he do?

Panic ate at me from the inside out. It brought tears to my eyes and turned my snarls of defiance into desperate whimpering. As the fox carried me further down the hall, my movements became more sporadic and less calculated.

We broke out into the dining hall and I caught a glimpse of the stage between my fits—Chica, Bonnie, and Freddy were in their spots, looking out over an audience that didn't exist.

They knew they had won.

Next to the trio, the backstage door was open. It lead into a black void, but I knew what was beyond there, thanks to the cameras. I halted my struggles for a moment as it all sank in, then started again with renewed vigor. I dug my heels in, pushed against the fox, and tried to trip his barren legs. It seemed to elicit a reaction, but then he just heaved me up off the floor.

"No!" I shouted, my voice echoing back at me. The darkness in the backstage area opened up and swallowed me. "No! Stop! Stop! Tell me what you want! I can help you! I can find your bodies—I can—I can do whatever you want! Just tell me! Just tell me!"

He was deaf to my pathetic pleas. Each step caused his jaw to bounce haphazardly, as if a spring was missing in the joint. His eye patch flapped every time he moved.

Foxy shifted his grip to his hand and he dragged me across the floor, kicking and screaming. I heard him drag something toward us along the ground, or a table. My fingers clawed at his, trying to free my shoulder and my shirt, but they were a vice.

How long had it been? Was Hart coming? Would he even be able to stop this possessed robot? I didn't have five minutes.

I didn't even have one minute.

Pain blossomed up my bicep and I screeched, arching my back and throwing all of my wait into unbalancing the robot. He was inflexible, and he had his hook sunk into my arm. I panted and blinked away tears. Now my struggles caused pain. Blood—my blood—oozed down my arm and Foxy heaved me up toward a hulking mass.

Hunched face-first against a wall, head lolled, was a Freddy Fazbear suit.

"No! _No_!" I wheezed. My legs burned from kicking and trying to stop a robot's strength, and my muscles were strained beyond their limit. This robot might have been stronger than Wolf.

He picked me up and slammed me in the direction of the suit, the back already open and waiting. I put my free hand up to knock the suit over, or brace myself against it, but it was strong and Foxy seemed accustomed to that strategy. He shook me, manipulated my limbs.

My mouth hung agape, unable to stop the screams that shattered my ears. I kicked and used all of my strength to brace against anything, but only wound up more injured.

Then, my arm snapped, unable to handle the torque between my thrashing and Foxy's power.

A sensation white-hot erupted across my vision and I gasped. My body went limp for just a second, but it was enough. Foxy took full advantage and shoved me forward. I lurched with a grunt. Before I felt anything else, I was aware of something hot and sticky sliding down my forehead and cheeks. It left a trail hotter than any fire.

 _Hart—Hart please—I can't hold on—_

Cold metal pressed against my forehead and chin. Something bit into my hips and chest. I sucked in a breath and my legs bent all wrong. Pain pin-pricked across my body, too difficult to locate the source of. Each one wracked me, each one brought a darkness around my vision.

Wolf stood in my mind's eye. I gasped for breath, fought to keep my head away from the Fazbear's. I remembered every smack upside the head, every reprimand he made, all with the intent to make me _better_. What a waste. What a horrible waste of the time he spent with me. My eyes clenched against the pain. I remembered the slightly patronizing way he'd pat my head if I managed something good. The way he'd grumble to himself.

I remembered what he looked like, without the mask. Those mandibles, the thick line of his brow and mottled pistachio skin. A foreign voice, mine, reverberated in my skull—crying out, pleading for relief from the pain. . .sobbing. Foxy's hand and hook were relentless, shoving until my arms fit in the right hole. Each crack of my bones brought the darkness closer.

Blood filled my mouth and I sputtered. It bubbled in my lungs and dripped down my face in copious globs. I remembered him, in my backyard. In my house. I wheezed and tried to breathe through the thick fluid, but my breath rattled in my chest. A pressure on my forehead—too much—

 _Crack_.

The stars—would they have looked bigger from space? I should have gone with him.

If only I'd

*:･ﾟ✧

Devon Hart slammed the butt of his gun over and over against the glass window of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. The pane shuddered, but didn't crack. His wrist hurt, but he needed to get inside. He had told her he was coming. He had told her two nights ago that he would come to her rescue if the demons inside managed to slip past her defenses.

Three minutes too late.

"Break damn you!" His voice pierced the otherwise calm night around him. Down the street, a pair of songbirds greeted the morning.

Scuff marks the size of coins peppered the glass, blemishing the otherwise pristine condition. He had already emptied his clip into the window with as much success as the continuous blunt force. Why a family restaurant needed bullet-proof windows was beyond him, but if he stopped to think for just a moment, he would realize it was to keep the robots inside from getting out.

Energy expended, he tossed his gun aside and pounded against the glass with his fist. His forehead touched the cool surface and he gasped for air, stringing curses with each breath.

He looked up, teeth grinding, into the dark depths of that building. Everything had settled back down inside. There was enough light bathing into the dining hall that he could make out the shape of someone shuffling away from the stage. A glimmer of hope bloomed in his chest, but was quickly squashed when he realized that the form was too tall. Too wide. Had pointed ears.

It didn't walk the way she did. A curved hook replaced the right hand.

Foxy.

"You son of a bitch!" he bellowed, hitting the glass a few more times.

The animatronic turned its head. Its eye patch was flipped up, maw gaping and teeth glinting in the meager lighting. It regarded the distraught man on the outside, then turned and climbed back up onto its own stage, drawing the purple, starry curtains back around him to hide.

Devon hit the window a few more times, wishing it would shatter into a million pieces. "God dammit, god dammit. God _dammit_!"

His hand squeaked on the glass as he turned, dragging it across the surface. More expletives glided through the air around him. He pulled out his cell phone from a pocket and paced out front, dialing the number for headquarters. He had to report this. The place had to be shut down. They had plenty of proof now that it was not your ordinary pizzeria.

Everything that had happened to Nichole Shain was on camera. Every bone break, every scream. All of it recorded. Hart would watch it later. Then he would put in a transfer request.

It was still filming inside that building. The camera was dark, fuzzy. All sound had ceased except for the building settling on its foundation, but it was recording nonetheless. Inside Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, hidden away in a room nestled between Pirate Cove and the show stage, was a room full of spare parts and suits.

One suit now sat atop a table, the spare endoskeleton tossed to the side. It was hunched, head cocked awkwardly to the side. Small traces of blood seeped from the eye sockets.

And there it would sit until they came for it.

*:･ﾟ✧

A child bounced on his feet next to his mom, excited for his first trip to the iconic pizzeria. She tried to hush him and his excited friends. It wasn't for a birthday, but they were celebrating a well-played little league game all the same.

As they walked up to the street, they found the store swarmed with police and men in suits—SWAT. The kids fell still and the mother ushered them away.

Devon stormed the inside, wearing a Kevlar vest and carrying an assault weapon, standing sentry by the stage. Watching over the animatronics standing quietly, as if they hadn't come to life hours earlier and murdered his partner.

"This is ridiculous!" the manager shouted, restrained and cuffed between two agents.

Without taking his eyes off the mascots, Devon said, "You get all the tapes?"

"Yes. All the recordings from the night," one of the agents assured him.

Again the manager protested. "You can just bust in here and start taking everything! It's all property of Fazbear Entertainment! You don't have the right!"

Before anyone could respond to his defensive shouting, forensics emerged from backstage, white-faced and clammy. Their gloves were bloodied and both of them were trembling. Devon set his jaw and took a deep breath before approaching. Everyone skirted around the robots.

"Well?" he demanded, somehow keeping his voice even.

The senior forensic officer dismissed his partner, who looked ready to cry. He watched her go, then cleared his throat. "It's uh, well. . .someone, someone will need to identify the body of course. But, but it might be a bit. . .difficult."

Devon's hands trembled and the rifle rattled.

"We'll need to get the body out of the suit, too. Far as I can tell it's her, though. I'm sorry."

"Thanks," Devon muttered, voice thick.

With a nod, the CSI left to finish his work and Devon turned around. Director Dixon noticed his look and addressed his agents. "Take in everyone. All the employees, the janitors, the fucking maintenance workers. I want every inch of this place taken in as evidence. Lock that asshole up and dismantle those fucking robots," he commanded.

"What?" the manager barked. "You can't do that! I didn't kill anyone!"

"How about some gross negligence, asshole? Get moving," the agent holding him said.

Dixon walked up to Devon and put his hand on his shoulder. "They're going to get theirs, Devon. Nichole will see justice."

When Devon said nothing, Dixon gave him a pat and left him to stare at the stationary mascots. His jaw was clenched so tight it hurt. Red-faced, he tried to keep his composure. All the things he could have done differently played across his mind's eye.

If only he'd run faster.

If only he could have found a way inside.

If only he had been with her, instead of letting her sit in that room by herself.

If only it'd been him instead.

He sniffed and rubbed his face with his hand. It was all his fault she was gone. His, and those fucking machined. Devon's glare twisted with hate and he raised his rifle, seconds away from filling them with lead, but that wouldn't fix anything. It might destroy evidence.

Might also make him feel better.

Devon grunted, composed himself, and followed after his fellow agents. He needed to give his statement. He needed to put in his two weeks.


	10. Strategem

**Hello, readers!**

 **Got a big batch of one-shots for you~ They've all been posted in order and rearranged, so be sure to check which ones you haven't read yet!**

 **This one shot is for Citrine Nebulae. The character featured is a special little cameo for my number one beta reader/best buddy. She's been an amazing help throughout the lifespan of Nichole's journey, so you better recognize! Without her, none of this would have made it out to the public to see! Be sure to send her some love and check out her fic _Alkaline_ if you get the chance! She's a talented writer~**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Strategem

A short story about how Agent Morgan from _Nightmare_ captured Fedbait. Requested by Citrine. Rated T.

* * *

"Westin? Westin!"

Nothing but static and distant screaming answered the calls.

Agent Morgan swore under her breath and called the others. "Fenton? Prescott? Someone fucking answer me!"

Finally, someone came back.

 _"Montoya here, predator injured—the others are down. Westin had tranqs. I'm making my way to where I saw him fall,"_ the agent said.

"I see you," Morgan declared, sliding across the van to check the monitors. Each dot represented one of her fellow agents out in the field. There was one red dot on the screen: the tracker that Agent Holland had died to place on the predator two hours earlier.

They'd made sure to keep the alien plenty busy, never giving him a chance to remove it.

Already, Morgan had had to remove seven of those allied dots. Three left.

"He's west of you, moving fast. You have to hurry," Morgan said, switching off Westin's tracker. Two of her fellow agents dedicated to surveillance and information were in the mobile lab with her, clicking away and trying to come up with scenarios and plans while she mediated those out in the thick of it all, doing her best to aid them.

But she was a field agent at heart, and being cooped up inside was driving her crazy. Her leg bounced while she sat, and she itched to be out with the others. It had been her idea to replace the asshat who had wussed out at the last second, though. Now she was regretting it. She should be out there, actively helping instead of this. Sure, it was important that someone knew where everyone was, she didn't feel useful _enough_.

"Keep me updated, Montoya. Where's Fenton?"

 _"I—I don't know. I lost most everyone."_

Another voice piped up, quiet and breathless, unmistakably male. _"Fenton—she just, her head. There's. . .oh my god, so much blood. . . ."_

Morgan turned to the monitor. "Prescott? What happened?"'

Her headset was quiet for a moment before Prescott answered. _"I didn't see him. The tracker said he was. . .but I couldn't_ see _him! Fenton started shooting. . .and then her head. . .fuck, I just_ surrendered, _I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. . .it's everywhere. . . ."_

His voice was thick; he was close to tears. Morgan's hands balled into a fist and she stood up, the wire of her headset tugging.

Fuck sitting on her ass.

Prescott was a big guy. He'd served in the Marines and she'd never thought that he would be as shaken as he sounded. As hopeless as things seemed to be. She didn't know what he'd seen when he'd served, but whatever was going on out there appeared to be worse.

By all accounts, she shouldn't want to go out there.

"Sit tight, Prescott. I'm coming to get you."

But she was going to. Because it was her job, and because she should have been out there in the first place, not covering for a coward who'd called out.

Maybe that made him smart.

The lab tech with her turned to her with a bewildered expression. "Why the fuck would you want to go into that mess?"

Ignoring him, she addressed Montoya, watching the monitor for a second to get an idea of how close the predator was to him. "Have you found Westin and the tranquilizers yet? This asshole's going to be on you any second!"

He was breathing heavy when he answered. _"Yes, I can see him. Just a little further!"_

She tossed her headset on the desk, checked to make sure her firearm was ready, then grabbed the extra rifle she'd brought. When it came to these alien hunters, she should have more firepower, but it would have to do.

"I gotta get out there and help them. Monitor where that thing is and _keep him updated_."

"Agent!"

However, she ignored his plaintive cry and slammed open the door, jumping out into the night. She had a pretty good idea of where Prescott was, so she started off at a sprint in his direction. She would stop by him, then move to rendezvous with Montoya and help where she could.

Every sound she heard set her on edge, but she knew she wasn't anywhere near where the predator had been seen. It would be closer to where Montoya was.

Prescott had said he'd surrendered. The predator would have left him.

It took a bit of searching in the dark, but she followed the sound of his faint muttering until she spotted him against a tree, hunched over a fallen form. Morgan took a breath and approached, making plenty of noise so she didn't startle him.

Kneeling by his side, she put her hand on his shoulder. Despite her attempts, he still jumped and gave her a wild look.

"Head back to the van. I'll take it from here."

"Fenton—"

Morgan grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "There's nothing you can do for her now! We'll round up the others when we've finished this mission and bagged us an alien, alright? Right now, you need to go back! Get up."

Prescott struggled up with Morgan's help and she pointed him in the right direction.

However, he stood tall and shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Where's Montoya?"

She gave him a long look, then motioned for him to follow. "He's grabbing the tranqs from Westin's body. The predator was heading toward him so we have to hurry. Can you contact the van and have them guide us?"

He nodded and had a short conversation with the men in the van before indicating. Morgan nodded and they continued onward in silence.

It wasn't long before the forest erupted in noise. Mostly gunfire—a guttural roar. The two paused, then set off as fast as the trees would allow toward the muzzle flares. Morgan handed Prescott her firearm, opting to keep the rifle for herself.

"Look out!" Prescott shouted, suddenly shoving Morgan away.

The gesture was unnecessary. Morgan had seen the ball of light coming their way, but Prescott had been quicker in reacting. She stumbled and fell, Prescott tumbling on top of her. Grunting, she shoved him off her and scrambled up.

"Think he noticed us?" Prescott huffed.

"Just maybe," she responded, taking cover behind a tree. As little help as it would provide.

With a hand to his ear, Prescott said, "Montoya, you alive in there?" His voice was steady, and Morgan was feeling a little better about him coming along.

"Any answer?" Morgan asked when he was silent for a moment. She peered around her cover and examined the darkened forest. The gunfire had stopped, and everything else had fallen silent. That never meant anything good.

"Nothing," Prescott sighed.

"Do you think he got the tranqs?"

Prescott pressed his back against his own tree and glanced at her. "Dunno. There's only one way to find out. I'll draw his fire, you find Montoya and the tranqs."

"That's suicide!"

"On the count of three."

Morgan, though clenched teeth, said, "Just wait a second! I can come up with something if you just give me a few seconds."

"Three."

"Prescott!"

"Two," he continued.

He lifted his firearm and took a deep breath, ignoring Morgan's constant and quiet protests. "Montoya is at your eight o'clock," he said, readying himself.

"God dammit, Prescott, there's a better way!"

"One."

With that, he leaped out from behind the tree trunk and fired a shot into the canopy. Morgan had half a mind to jump in and pull him back, but that would have undermined everything and may end up killing them both, so she remained where she was.

"Come and get me you ugly motherfucker!" her comrade shouted, weaving in and out of the trees to avoid any stray fire from their quarry.

Eyes clenched shut in frustration, Morgan took two seconds to take a deep breath, then scurried out from her hiding place. She hurried in the direction Prescott had indicated while he engaged the predator in the opposite direction. Keeping low to the ground, she swept the area for any signs of her fallen friends.

She found him after nearly tripping on Montoya's leg. Had she not, she might have missed him; he had fallen flush with some roots she'd tried to step over.

Prescott was still making an unholy racket, so Morgan took that as a good sign.

"C'mon, c'mon, have them," she muttered to the dead Montoya, ignoring the hole in his chest. She held down the bile and searched his weapon for the darts, then his person, but found nothing. Swearing under her breath, she stood back up and started searching the ground to see if he'd dropped it somewhere nearby.

Since the predator was caught up with Prescott, Morgan felt safe enough to use her flashlight. Usually, she would avoid relying on it because it came with the chance of giving away her position.

Doesn't matter when your enemy can see in the dark, she supposed.

After a brief, frantic search, she came across the rifle that carried the darts. They were dosed to fell a bull elephant, but they had more than one just in case it wasn't enough. She checked to make sure they were all there, or at least not broken.

The rifle only loaded one at a time, but the suitcase wasn't far. After sliding down a shallow hill, Morgan picked it up and looked inside.

Three collared syringes, barbed to ensure the full dose made it. She sighed in relief and carefully pocketed the extra, capped syringes so she wouldn't have to carry the suitcase with her. Now she just had to figure out where the predator was and—

Morgan froze. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

It was quiet.

As this realization hit her, three red dots appeared on her chest. She glanced up and had just enough time to spring backward and raise the rifle as a shield before the predator's cannon shot hit her. Barely dodging, the blast shot past her and slammed into the ground scant inches away.

Turning, she lifted the gun in the air over her head. She was grasping at straws, but she had to buy time. She had to appeal to whatever better nature these things had.

"Wait!"

She took it as a good sign that he didn't end her right there.

Though it meant she would have one less dart, Morgan tossed the tranquilizer rifle down and raised her fists. "Come out and fight me!"

All she could do, while waiting in the silence of the night, was hope that he couldn't turn down a challenge like their research indicated. She remained still even as her eyes looked for him in the tree line. He wouldn't do something as cowardly as hitting her while her back was turned.

Was he trying to decide if she was worth it? If she had any tricks up her sleeve?

Whatever, he could deliberate all he wanted. It gave her time to formulate a plan. There was no way she could match him in a straight up fist fight, but if he was in close. . . .

The darts in her pocket. If he was within grappling range, she could jam them in.

If he took the bait.

"Come on! Don't tell me you're scared!" she shouted into the darkness.

That seemed to be the ticket. An invisible mass landed four or five feet in front of her, kicking up dirt and sticks and startling her. She took a step back but otherwise kept her composure.

With a crackle of electricity, the alien appeared.

He was bigger than any picture could have depicted. Maybe three feet taller than her, and thrice her body mass. She was way in over her head, but she didn't want to win. Just distract him long enough to stab him with a needle or two.

Morgan expected an immediate fight, but he spent a full minute watching her, then shedding pieces of his armor and his weapons.

A fair fight.

So the stories were true.

Last was his mask. As he stripped and dropped it in the pile of the rest of his stuff, adrenaline surged through Morgan's veins. This was her last shot. Even if it killed her, she would capture this beast and finish her mission. Her nails bit into her palm, and she prepared herself.

"Okay, come at me," she breathed.

Her opponent widened his stance and roared, rattling her bones and making her think twice. There was no going back now, though.

Wasting no more time, he charged her. It took everything she had to keep from running. As he came at her, she pulled out one of the syringes. She took a deep breath, and let him slam into her. Something cracked in her chest and all the air drained from her lungs, but she had a one-track mind.

Using her teeth, she pulled the cap off the syringe and plunged it into his shoulder blade as deep as the needle would allow.

If this didn't work, he was going to pissed.

Snarling, the predator shoved her down and stumbled back. He knew she'd stabbed her with something, but he couldn't reach back to pull it out.

In a normal animal, it would take maybe 40 minutes to take effect.

Not only she did not have 40 minutes to mess around with his guy, but she didn't know if one would even knock him out, let alone how long it would take. She needed to get another one in there.

But breathing hurt.

Standing hurt.

And he was _angry._

Before she could pick herself up, the predator heaved her up by the back of her shirt. Morgan tried to pull the second dark out of her pocket, but he tossed her before she could. The landing didn't hurt as much as being tackled had.

Using the few seconds it would take him to reach her again, she removed the dart and scrambled to her feet.

This time, she saw him coming. This time, she wasn't going to let him hit her.

Morgan threw herself out of his way and stumbled on the uneven ground. She had to try to limit her movement or else her broken rib could really pose a serious health risk. That was a luxury she couldn't afford, though, and she had to trust adrenaline to numb the pain. He came at her again and she deftly avoided him, then leaped onto his back and held on for dear life.

Then, she drove the tranquilizer into his chest and dropped back down, rolling to avoid any further damage. She almost couldn't get back up; her ribs were on fire and she couldn't breathe.

Two should have been enough. If not, she'd have to pull the third out of the rifle.

Again, she was heaved up like it was nothing. She coughed, and that just made everything worse. But she'd done her job. Two doses of sedatives would be enough. Had to be enough.

Someone just needed to come collect him in half an hour if she didn't make it.

Hopefully, with the needle so close to his heart, it would pump it twice as fast. Some reports indicated they may even have two hearts. If that was true, it would spread so much quicker and this would be over soon.

Probably not soon enough, but—she'd done what she'd wanted, what was needed.

After a moment, he dropped her.

Grunting, she braced her fall and crawled far enough way to turn around and look at him. The predator was taking a few step backs, hunched over and gripping the dart, trying to tug it out. The barbs made that difficult, but he ended up ripping it out anyway, splattering fluorescent green blood in the air.

Elated, Morgan moved back until she was behind a tree. This was far from an honorable and fair fight, but she hadn't really wanted that in the first place.

Already he was feeling the effects. It seemed to be starting as disorientation and confusion. He hadn't chased after her since she'd hidden herself. Morgan took a peek around the trunk to watch him and catch her breath, or as much of it as she could.

Quick, shallow breaths. She had to support her ribs with her arm, and that relieved some of the pain but not all of it.

The predator was snarling and stumbling around in a delirium. Morgan steadied herself, then stood up and limped over to the pile of stuff he'd made, tucking it all away so they could find it later but the predator couldn't.

Just in case he had something in there he could use to counteract the sedatives.

Or shoot her with.

It was back to hiding, then, keeping out of his range of sight and moving whenever he came a little too close. Morgan didn't know how long they played their strange game of cat and mouse, but his state only deteriorated until he was on the floor, struggling to stay up.

Suddenly, Morgan couldn't remember if he'd taken off that wrist computer.

With the bomb in it.

She gasped and hurried toward him as he fell. However, it hadn't seemed like he had set it up to explode yet. Maybe he couldn't think straight or was too proud to admit this defeat, however dirty she'd played to earn the win.

"Sorry big guy, it's nothing personal, just business," she muttered, sitting nearby but out his reach to make sure he went down.

In the meantime, she had to figure out how she was going to drag his ass out of the woods.

There was still a few minutes before he fully succumbed. She had time to come up with something. If it came down to it, she'd just have to dig deep and find the strength.

After all that had happened, it would be the easiest part of her night.


	11. The Lost Files

**Hello, readers!**

 **Here's another little short story for y'all. It's formatted a little differently and in a slightly different style from what I'm used to, so I can't really say that I'm 100% happy with how it turned out. But, I don't mean for these quick chapters to be perfect, so hopefully it's just good enough to get the point I was trying to make across.**

 **If it is as terrible as I fear it is, let me know lmao. If you have suggestions to how I could make it better, also let me know. I can always go back and try to clean it up a little more if people have issues with it.**

 **Anyway, I posted this up on my creator page on patron (yes, I know I'm not saying the right website. This site completely erases all mention of the properly spelled word, so I have to say patron instead). It's for patrons only for 3 days, then goes public, so everyone can read my first drafts if you visit the page! I gotta shout out my first patrons, Toby, Luke, and Tonya!**

 **Enjoy the chapter!**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

The Lost Files

The team found Mindy's journals. Maybe they'll shed some light on her behavior. Rated T.

* * *

The heavy stench of smoke and burnt flesh hung thick in the air. Cleansing the laboratory of it would take weeks. Sifting through the trashed hard drives and charred SD cards to coax out any information would take even longer.

Mask-wearing lab techs sifted through the carnage. There was barely anything left inside the giant xenomorph habitat. The resin hadn't been able to withstand the immense heat and reaping flames. There were only two corpses that they could distinguish—the massive body of the queen and human remains.

Miranda Dupree.

The queen's brittle cadaver crumbled when touched. Nothing but ash remained of her and the same held true for Miranda. They hadn't even been sure it was her until they tested the ashes.

One of their hardest-working lab techs, gone with the push of a button. No one could fathom how that agent had been able to do it at all.

There remained one crucial piece of the puzzle. It wouldn't complete it, but it might bring the picture into better focus. A small, leather-bound journal with Miranda's more personal thoughts and findings logged diligently.

No one would find it until later, when her home and belongings were searched.

But, inside, it cataloged everything Miranda had deemed important enough to jot down. From the moment of her transfer to the day of her demise. Some were useless domestic entries, but a great many were work-related notes.

A small victory for the xenomorph team.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day One_

Orientation is over! I had to sign so many NDAs. I think I've got carpal tunnel. I don't remember signing this many when I worked on the Grays! Oh well.

Things I need to remember:

1 – Don't talk about anything to anyone!

2 – Never go into the lab by myself.

3 – My teammates are Emma and Melvin.

4 – Stay out of the enclosure unless aliens are sedated.

I can't wait until I get to see them. We don't often get live specimens! Worth the transfer.

Note: Buy peanuts.

Note 2: And milk!

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day Three_

These specimens. They're terrifying. Beautiful in a deadly sort of way. Every part of them seems like it's only there to help it kill more efficiently. It was a wonder that the field agents were able to capture any of them without more casualties!

But, I guess they did it, obviously. I just wish we knew more about them, but they they're in the early stages of study. They've barely even woken up from the sedatives.

Remember: three times dosage for a tiger.

We had enough information to at least prepare to keep them contained. The habitat should be large enough. If not, I suppose we could expand.

What we know so far:

1 – They have thick armored hide.

2 – Their blood is caustic to most Earth materials and flesh.

3 – They seem fine in the cold.

4 – Their claws can rip through metal.

5 – Much like a moray eel, they have two jaws.

We'll find out more. We don't have a deceased specimen, so autopsies are out of the question for now.

They're so hardy!

Maybe one will die of natural causes. Maybe the higher ups will decide to kill one. Something will come up!

Forgot my peanuts. :( Got the milk, though!

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day Seven_

Considering their sharp fangs, we concluded that they must eat meat. We scrounged up some cattle to feed them – just a couple to see if we were right.

They didn't eat them at all!

It was the strangest thing to watch. Fascinating. The xenomorphs attacked them and I thought for sure those poor things were going to get gobbled up, but instead they were just, like, pinned down and they were force-fed something.

We don't know what it was. We know, thanks to the eye-witness, that they reproduce my planting embryos in hosts. Parasites! Maybe that's what happened.

But it's supposed to go egg – carrier – implanted embryo – nymph – sub-adult – adult. How would these adults do it?

The cows are still alive after being unconscious for a while (though they did get pasted to a wall? It's weird. These things are weird) so I guess we'll find out.

Melvin and Emma and I are going for drinks later!

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day Eight_

Just as we thought! The adults had implanted embryos into the cows. We came in this morning to find them dead, their chests wide open.

We were also right about the meat.

I didn't think half-eaten cow corpses would be so gross.

All in the name of science! It was probably the newborns. They would need some sort of nutrients to keep going. I'm sure the adults ate some, too.

Not important!

There were new adults. In one night! We didn't even get to see the growth in real-time. We're going to review the recordings later.

None of the new adults look anything like the description we were given of the queen. How do they plan on reproducing if they don't have a queen?

We've got some goats coming in. We'll see if these new adults are capable of implanting embryos as well.

The wait is killing me!

At least Melvin and Emma are great workers. Had a blast hanging out with them!

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day Ten_

We're not going to need to worry about how we're going to get a deceased specimen to dissect.

They killed each other!

I was so heartbroken. All dead. Like they'd engaged in mortal combat over. . .we're not sure. We'd given them plenty to eat. They didn't use the goats to breed, they just used them as food in the end.

There are a couple survivors. One of them just hides in the corner, likely nursing its wounds. The others leave it alone. It seems not all of them participated in the fight.

Acid everywhere! We're going to have to go reinforce the flooring and some of the walls sometime.

Oh! I forgot! The cow-born aliens move on four legs! The ones they brought in had skulked around on two legs, only moving on all fours when they wanted to climb or were running around the enclosure.

They grow based on their host!

Fascinating!

Still, I don't know what we're going to do. We're definitely going to have to gas them. We need to get samples of the nesting materials and pull out the dead bodies for testing.

I hope I get to go inside!

Note: Gotta do laundry!

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day Eleven_

Today was amazing. I was chosen to go inside the enclosure with Emma and Melvin to extract samples. I was over the moon!

Observations:

1 – It was hot! We didn't have any heat on or anything.

2 – So muggy! Probably from the resin they secrete.

3 – Their secretions are so sticky! Thicker than snot.

4 – They're kinda cute when they're sleeping.

The injured adult didn't seem bad, so we left it in there instead of pulling it for medical treatment. We did remove the corpses, though.

I will not be performing or observing the autopsy. :( I have to test these samples.

Maybe that'll be fun.

Enlightening, at least.

*:･ﾟ✧

The people tasked with combing over Miranda's journals skimmed through them, searching for any clue as to where things began to go awry. Searching for any changes in her inner voice or perhaps details as to why she acted the way Agent Shain had reported.

Since the security cameras supported her claims, they had no choice but to believe that Miranda and the others had snapped.

With her journals being physical and not digital, it was not so easy to look out for key words by eye. Still, as the journals shifted to Miranda studying the queen in detail, they found something akin to what they might be looking for.

"Royal Jelly."

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day 374_

It's the queen's birthday! It would have been more appropriate to get her a gift, but instead we gassed her and took samples of her. Skin, secretions, ovum mucous – anything we could scrape or suck off of her.

Some eggs, too. The implanters need to be studied! We haven't been able to successfully pull a nymph out of the host, but I heard talk that they might try to find a cardiothoracic surgeon.

The best in the country, if not the world.

I don't know the official list, but I took it upon myself to look up some names so I could be prepared.

Justine Henderson.

Mathias Little.

Nasir Bartlett.

Those were just the top three that showed up on my Google search. They're all super-successful and have tons of rewards for cutting-edge procedures. I'm sure the department would find someone who can do it.

Someone should be able to remove the nymphs. It's not like they bond at a molecular level. They just attach and hold on so tightly that any average surgeon runs risks of the patient bleeding out or the nymph causing irreversible damage to the lungs or heart.

We'll get it. We have to! It would be a disaster if something happened and we weren't able to cure people. These things would wipe us out.

Oh!

The tests results for the resinous substance the queen secretes was so much different from the drones. Her DNA is structured so much differently, too.

It's pure – no traces of cow DNA at all!

These things are just so neat.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day 381_

Emma, Melvin, and I have been reallocated to studying the queen exclusively. I'm excited! She's the only specimen we have that is a genetic purity.

Well, besides the eggs and implanters.

The three of us started calling her secretions Royal Jelly. She is a queen, after all! It was Melvin's idea. I guess he has an uncle or something who keeps bees.

She doesn't use it quite like honey bees do, though. The larva stage is spent inside a host, so they don't feed off of it. However, the same substance is found inside the eggs, so it does pose as nutrition for the implanters, at least.

Maybe she could feed it to the drones or newborns. We haven't had any newborns in a while.

There's talk of bringing in more hosts, though.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day 410_

Been having weird dreams about the xenomorphs. I think I've been spending too much time in the lab! Melvin and Emma both look exhausted, too. I think I'll ask them out for drinks again.

Maybe a vacation!

We have plenty of scientists on the case, I'm sure they could spare the three of us a week of rest and relaxation.

They have to! There are labor laws for a reason.

Science will go on without us. I do kind of shudder to think about what discoveries they'll make without us. Discovers that we could make!

Okay, so no vacation. I'll just buy stronger coffee!

I don't want to miss anything.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day 412_

Another dream! I might have to turn this into a dream journal if it keeps going on like this.

It's always so dark and I can't really see. But I'm not scared. You'd think a dream that dark would be scary! They're kinda weird when I think about them after waking up, but at least they're not nightmares.

I hate nightmares!

Strange that they aren't, though. They all feature the adult drones in, like, everyday situations. I'll be sitting in the dark watching TV and out comes a drone, a la The Ring! Or buying groceries in a dark grocery store and the person next to me will ask about the bananas and then bam! A nymph comes out of her chest.

You'd think that would be cause for a bad dream, but I never wake up scared.

Oh well! They'll stop eventually, I'm sure. I just have to stop thinking about these things so much!

*:･ﾟ✧

The entries became more and more sparse as Miranda had less and less to report. They became more and more domestic for a year or two's worth of writing.

More strange dreams.

Meetings with colleagues.

To-do and shopping lists.

Nothing even remotely close to anything they need. No chemical notes, no equations or sample-specific items. It was the least scientific journal any of them had seen.

Like she wasn't one of the most brilliant minds. They could only assume that she saved that for her reports.

These weren't meant to be seen by others.

As the team filtered through the journal, they slowly lost hope for what her thoughts could provide them. They lost count of the number of times she'd written in the journal, each one blurring into the next.

When they were about to quit, to give up this wild goose chase after days and days of reading and analyzing, the entries changed. They went back to the topic of work—for the most part.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day ?_

Emma, Melvin, and I have been placed back on the same team finally! I missed them so much. I know why they split us up, but it's good to have the dream team back together! There'd been so much work to go over with the new hosts and new lines of research.

Dissecting eggs.

Dissecting the parasitoids.

Dissecting nymphs.

Dissecting dissecting dissecting!

For some reason, it's all leaving a bad taste in my mouth. We shouldn't need to do it this much! The poor things.

It's almost cruel what we're doing to them.

We still can't extract nymphs without losing the patient. I guess the higher ups don't care, though, considering the hosts were death row inmates.

For now, we're back on studying the queen. She stopped producing eggs, and we have to find out why. So we gassed the enclosure and went to gather some samples.

Collecting blood samples of these creatures is so hard!

The three of us. . .we did something we probably shouldn't have. We go in with these full suits. I guess we had this whole, Jurassic Park moment. When they see the sick triceratops and all touch her? That moment!

But with the queen!

We've never interacted with a live specimen before. Just walked past them to clear out corpses or get samples. So, when no one was looking, the three of us took off our gloves and touched the queen! We felt her breathing under our hands!

She's so. . .so. . .majestic!

I still feel so giddy about it! I don't think I'll be able to sleep. I gotta, though. Can't go to work tired!

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day ?_

The dreams came back, but different. They were just kind of weird at first, but now they're a little more scary. Not like, nightmare scary, but you know, they instill a sense of urgency in me, like there's something really important that I need to be doing.

I mentioned them to Melvin and Emma in passing, and they said they'd been having dreams, too. They went away for a while, but now they're back again!

It's so weird how that works sometimes.

Even after I wake up, I still feel like there's something I should be doing. Something I'm forgetting. I don't know what it is, though.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _Day ?_

I can't help but admire the queen. She's gotten so big and so beautiful since she first metamorphosed from that adult drone. There's a sort of regality about her. The way she moves—when she does move, anyway. She sleeps a lot, or at least goes into something similar to sleep.

It probably takes a lot of energy making those eggs. She stopped producing, but she's still on that egg sack.

We started calling her Momma. It just seems to fit. The little ones flock around her and dote on her like workers should a queen, but she's tender and firm with them the way a mother would be.

Some of the others think we're personifying, but I don't think it's so far-fetched that she'd have maternal feelings for them.

They're living creatures. . . .Maybe it's wrong to keep them locked up. They certainly don't want to be in there. I think that's what these dreams are saying.

What Momma's saying.

She looks at us sometimes, I know it. Even though she doesn't have eyes, I know she looks at us.

Pleads with us.

Emma, Melvin, and I – she wants us to free her! To free her children. To show everyone what we know. That they're much higher beings than us.

That to be reborn as them. . .that would be the highest honor!


	12. One Missed Call

**Hello, readers!**

 **I wrote this for a one-day prompt that's part of a February shipping event! The facebook group I'm a part of for fanfiction is hosting it, and the prompt was "The ship you write for the most" and, well, I'm all about Wolf and Nichole! Since I wrote this all today, it's kind of short and I haven't done ANY editing on it, so please keep that in mind!**

 **I might write more of these if any of the other day-to-day prompts fit, so you guys might be looking at quite a few updates for the next month! At least for Noctuary. I'm also working on editing Nightmare, so keep an eye out for any updated chapters! You can keep track of them by watching my AO3 account (under the same name).**

 **Thanks and enjoy!**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

One Missed Call

Wolf has received the call he's been waiting for, and now he's on the way to pick up Nichole. Rated T.

* * *

He stared at the flashing red message on his screen, uncertain if it was real. Uncertain if it was what he thought it was. It beeped quietly, a contingency for when the visual alert was missed.

"How long has this been here?" he asked without taking his eyes off the screen.

The eta standing nearby lowered itself even further, almost prostrating itself. "Only just notice," it insisted.

Sha'ktil-ar growled in annoyance and the eta quickly scuttled backward out of the room, but it stopped outside the door, ready if it was needed. Sha'ktil-ar deliberated whether to reprimand it but decided that would be a waste.

It wasn't like it had hadn't called him over as soon as the eta noticed the message.

Rattling in resignation, he sat in his chair in front of the screen and tapped a few buttons on the control pad built into the armrest.

Just as he thought.

She had called.

There was no actual message; she wouldn't have known how to adequately leave one. However, that was why he'd given her the code he had. It wouldn't require a detailed transcript for him to understand the implication.

A simple distress signal. One that laid out where to go and how long ago it had been activated. As the eta had said, it hadn't been received until a short while before he was fetched.

"Prepare my ship," he commanded.

The eta chirped to confirm and skittered further into the hallway.

Meanwhile, Sha'ktil-ar leaned back in his seat and clicked his tusks together, deep in thought as he stared at an intricate map of her home planet. The signal had been sent from one location, but the beacon in his old personal computer was on the move—fast.

One of the human's primitive vehicles, no doubt. Was she trying to travel somewhere she thought would be a better meeting place?

Perhaps. He'd find out when he made the trip to her planet and found her.

A few seasons had passed since he'd last seen or heard from his human protégé. She'd insisted on staying behind in order to complete some unfinished business. A hunt or something.

But she was ready now.

And that was what mattered.

"Ship good," the eta announced upon its return. It still wouldn't move passed the entryway, afraid of facing consequences.

"Good. Dismissed."

It bowed low and backed away before disappearing to its quarters.

Sha'ktil-ar stood and dismissed his computer and screen. When everything had powered down, he headed toward his armory. He wasn't expecting a fight, but you always prepared for one. Especially on her planet.

Flighty things, humans. Who knew what would happen while he was there.

He grabbed the basic—blades, his whip, a fully stocked medkit, projectiles, and his plasma blaster. It took him a minute to recall which mask she'd last seen him wear: he didn't want to pick the wrong one.

Not that he had that many, just a few new ones he'd picked up for various reasons.

The last thing he wanted to do, though, was cause her undue distress, which was bound to happen if he showed up with an unfamiliar mask.

She was so tightly wound.

Well, there would be time to train that out of her.

In fact, there would be so much time to train her for a lot of things. There was so much to teach her, so much untapped potential for him to mold and shape. He found himself planning everything in his head while he made the short walk to his ship. The hunts, the drills, customs—

It would be overwhelming, but he didn't expect her to spend much time around many of the others. Sha'ktil-ar hadn't taken to another clan since his had perished in the crash. He could teach her a little at a time, just enough of their customs to see her through a short exchange.

What hunt would he send her on, first? Something easy, but not too easy. She'd already proved herself with a _kiande amedha_ queen. He could ease her in with a creature slightly weaker than a queen. . . .

A thought occurred to him just as he was about to take off. There was one more thing he needed to bring with him. He left his ship to idle and hurried back to his armory.

Mounted in one of the weapon racks was a blade with a subtle curve. Acid-resistant. Serrated edge. Grip made of bone.

Hers, from the ship.

He looked it over, making sure it hadn't dulled since it had last been wielded—it was hers, technically, so he hadn't used it at all. Sha'ktil-ar decided it was fine and strapped it to him.

Finally, after taking one last stock to make sure he had what he needed to pick her up, he was off. The guiding system alerted him when he'd left the atmosphere and was in open space and he set the trajectory for _N'ithya._

 _How much has she changed?_

He found himself wondering things of a similar vein. There was a lot that he knew about humans, but he hadn't ever followed one from adolescence to adulthood. She would be fully matured by now, surely.

Had she grown any larger? What had she been up to since they'd last spoken? Sha'ktil-ar hoped she'd been honing her skills and working on those legs.

Even if she hadn't, he was sure he'd be able to find someone to fix them for her.

That, or someone who could make something that would compensate. Her legs had been a mess—what sort of medicine did that species practice? They'd gone about fixing her all wrong.

Putting metal _inside_ her legs.

Barbaric.

There would be plenty of time to catch up and learn of these things when they saw each other. He himself had been promoted to one of the highest positions available, next to clan leader.

It would have been nothing for him to take the next step, but after the destruction of his original clan, he had no desire to either join or start a new one. He and Ra-ilt had separated after being picked up, so he had no more ties to his old clan.

Except for her.

He'd made her part of his clan when she'd passed all the requirements for becoming a blooded _sain'ja_. Her first _kiande amedha_ kill. Assisting in the killing of a queen.

She had more than earned the right to be part of his clan.

It made sense that she returned to his side. It made sense that he did what he could to make her the best she could be.

It just. Made. Sense.


	13. Passions

**Hello, readers!**

 **If you have ideas for a one-shot you'd like to see, feel free to post it in a review or PM me!**

 **This is where I've moved the joke chapter for _Nightmare_. It's still, stupid, and SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY. Thanks. :3**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Passions

The April Fool's chapter 14 for Nightmare. Not canon, I can't stress that enough. Rated T, some language and innuendo.

* * *

The sewer was dark, scary, and icky. So it came as a relief when Devon stopped me before we got any deeper into the sewer. If I had to spend another minute sledging through knee-deep high dark nasty water, I was going to go crazy.

I mean, for real gross.

His hand grabbed mine and he pulled me into his chest. His intense gaze met my confused eyes and He held me tight.

"I can't take any more of this!" he declared as I stared at him with wide eyes.

"Of what?" I asked innocently.

He made a grandiose gesture toward Wolf, who stood a ways back with his head tilted. If I wasn't so observant and smart, I would have missed the irritated curl of his fingers into a fist at his side. But I was those things, so I did notice even though my back was turned and I was enraptured with Devon's smoldering pout.

Devon said, "You must choose! I won't stand by and let you flirt with this beast anymore!"

I shoved away from him and put my hand against my forehead. "You can't make me choose, Devon! There's nothing _to_ choose."

"Bullshit there isn't. I see how you look at him."

Wolf growled and took a few steps toward us.

"No, Devon," I insisted, whirling around to face him. "There's nothing _here_. He saved my life when I was young, that's it! His chiseled abs and bad boy attitude mean nothing to me!"

Scoffing, Devon paced on dry land, as we had all—as a group—moved out of the nasty toilet water and somewhere better smelling. Like the woods, yeah. We were back in the woods where it was darker and the moon cast a nice glow over us. Yeah, that's better. More ambient, if you ask me. Better conditions for professions of love than a sewer.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah, Devon grabbed me again, holding my wrists too tight. "And what of me? Did these past three years as partners mean anything to you?"

Had it really been three years? I hadn't the slightest idea (and neither does the writer), but time sure did fly. It seemed only yesterday that DICKson had paired us together. He'd been so innocent, only just brought to the light about aliens. I'd already been hardened by adversity, and his naivety had been a weakness in my eyes, but he'd quickly proved himself as a friend, maybe . . . maybe more . . . .

But I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "You're my partner, my precious partner."

His grip loosened for a second, then tightened again. "I don't believe you. All those nights eating shitty Chinese food together, going over case files. I took you to have drinks that one night! Like, two nights ago or something, remember?"

How could I have forgotten? I'd thrown up. Maybe because of unrelated reasons but I'd still yacked nonetheless.

Ah, Fedbait. I wished things could have been different for him.

But it was his fate, preordained even before the first words of this sequel was typed in an empty word document. There wasn't anything I could have done, no matter how much I wanted to get him out of his situation. Alas, c'est la vie.

"Yes, I remember," I whispered. "It was awful."

"Yeah, but you had fun, right?"

"No, it was awful."

"Yeah, but, I mean—not all of it was, right?"

Shrugging I allotted him some vacant platitudes. "Yeah, I mean, the fries were tasty and I guess those two nobodies were alright."

Devon rolled his eyes. "I mean hanging out with me!"

"Oh," I deadpanned. "Yeah—yeah no, I mean you're the best, Devon. I thought that was a given. Like a cute puppy."

I saw him die a little inside and I pat his cheek, grinning. "I'm kidding, you're great."

He spun me around and dipped me down, holding me up in a bent position like in the movies when they're about to kiss really passionately or some such. They made it look easier in the movies. It was actually really uncomfortable and I tried not to make pained faces.

Whatever it was a romantic gesture anyway.

"There's more there, I know it! Admit that you have feelings for me like I do for you, Nichole!"

No longer able to stand idly by, Wolf grabbed Devon by the shoulder and yanked him away, but not before my partner pulled me upright. I placed one hand against my chest and reached out a little, afraid to come between these two as they quarreled over me.

"Enough!" Wolf snapped, suddenly speaking immaculate English for no real reason except it's easier. "Accept your defeat with honor and dignity!"

"You haven't defeated me at anything," Devon sneered. "You're an alien! It could never work!"

"Matters of the heart transcend such trivialities."

Devon huffed and they faced me—on one side was Devon, my partner, and best friend. The closest thing to a friend that I'd ever had since high school. He'd been by my side through everything, the easy missions, and the tough missions. The man who'd kept me sane. His wit and humor had gotten me through numerous breakdowns and bad moods.

And on the other side, the tall and dark muscular alien warrior. He was dangerous, mostly a mystery. Rugged and masculine. Going with him meant intrigue and adventure and glory most would only dream of. It also meant peril and death around every corner—a constant adrenaline rush. Wolf had saved my life—without him, I'd be dead several times over. Without him, I'd never have met Devon. Everything came down to him.

But Devon was safe, human. If I wanted I could have a family . . . .

Wolf, adventure and danger.

I put my hands against my head and screamed to the stars. "I can't decide! You both mean so much to me! I which I didn't have to choose, I wish it could just be both of you!"

The two of them shared looks, then Wolf shrugged. "I'd be down for that."

Devon crossed his arms, but also shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, I guess that could work."

My hands dropped to my side and I glanced between the two of them. "Oh. Really? You'd be okay with that?"

"Why not?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Oh. Well alright then."

Then we all totally had a hot threesome right there on the forest floor. However, we forgot all about the xenomorphs and Gunnison was wiped off the map by a nuke. But it's okay, we were . . . far enough away from the blast or something. I don't know.

Doesn't matter, had sex.


	14. Limp

**Hello, readers!**

 **Yup, another Wolf POV story! It's kind of short, and I apologize for that, but I don't know it works better this way haha. This was bugging me and bugging me ever since I posted the last chapter and epilogue of _Nightmare_ , so I HAD to get it out of my head. It's a little bit of fluff, a little bit of feels, so I hope you guys like it! **

**~ Crayola**

* * *

Limp

Wolf tends to Nichole after the events of Nightmare. Rated T because reasons.

* * *

 _What have they done?_

This wasn't his human. This frail, broken alien on the recovery berth. Barely breathing and unconscious. Her core temperature was far too high. Bright spots of heat and contrasting, dark cold spots littered her slender body. Inflammations. Contusions. Mending bones. Someone had removed the metal rods from her leg, but hadn't bothered to fix the poorly-healed bones. She was trembling.

His claws clenched into tight fists at his sides. What had they done to his human?

"How did the procedure go?" he calmly asked the _eta_ standing by, monitoring her vitals and awaiting his orders.

It hesitated to answer, its pincers clicked together rapidly. "Davar not do it. Make _eta_. Davar watch us. _Eta_ do best. Not know _ooman_ body good. Nymphs and foreign objects removed. _Ooman_ live, but not healthy yet."

"She's too hot, we need to cool her down."

The insectoid servant nodded and turned to the monitor, changing some of the settings. The surface of the cot began to cool immediately.

"How many?" the _eta_ asked.

Sha'ktil-ar glanced at the readout on the display and tried to recall what it should say. At last he said, "Seven degrees. Did Davar give a reason for not operating himself?"

"Not."

As expected. He could make a guess. Out of the blue, Wolf had shown up with a female human and demanded that Davar remove the _kiande amedha_ nymphs growing inside her. An unprecedented request, even if she had been yautja. Davar had only agreed because of Sha'ktil-ar's rank and the blooded mark on her chest. To think he would have still treated her like kin. . .that was his mistake.

Or maybe the problem was that they _had_ treated her like another yautja. The _eta_ wouldn't have known any better and Davar wouldn't have cared enough to explain.

How truly fragile humans could be in comparison.

Not once, since the first time he'd met her, had Sha'ktil-ar thought of Nichole as "fragile". She'd always been tough and had a strong heart. No matter what was happening, she always stood up and kept going with her head held high in defiance.

And now. . . .

He clicked his tusks together in irritation. Davar hadn't technically done anything he could reprimand him for. The procedure was done, its goals met. Still, it infuriated him. She deserved better treatment than this.

"I will take care of her from here," he declared, pushing the _eta_ away.

"Sir?"

Gently, he scooped Nichole into his arms. She was so light. "I can monitor her recovery myself now that she's stable. Her inoculations?"

"Given before procedure," he was assured.

At least something went right, then. "Good. Return to your duties."

With a nod, the _eta_ watched Sha'ktil-ar leave, then set about cleaning up the recovery room.

If he was honest with himself, he knew he shouldn't be mad. She was a sore sight, but at least she was alive. Everything else would come later, if only they could see her as he saw her. Witness her spirit first hand. She had his blooded mark and his blessing. She had assisted him in killing a queen. None of it seemed to matter with this first impression of her.

At least they wouldn't question him. No one would dare. They could stare and think poorly of her, but that was fine. He had the rank to back his claim to her. _For_ her. When she was in better condition, she could make up for this botched debut. She'd collect her trophies.

She'd prove her place by his side in their eyes, as she had already in his.

Suddenly, Nichole shifted and tensed. Sha'ktil-ar stopped walking and looked down at her, curled against his chest. She'd always been small, but now she looked tiny and delicate. It was hard to believe this was the same girl he'd fought alongside.

Figuring she was fidgeting in a more sleep-like state, he continued toward his ship.

"Devon. . . ."

He froze, uncertain if he'd heard her right. She was still out cold, muttering in her sleep. That was that ridiculous man's name. Had he really meant that much to her that she was calling out to him now? One of her last requests before he'd put her on ice had involved him, too.

For the life of him, he couldn't understand why.

Huffing, he adjusted his grip on her, grumbled an apology when she shuddered in pain, and continued through the hub. With her pinned against his chest, he purred to help comfort her.

After all this, he supposed he owed her a favor.

If it would ease her mind and allow her some closure, then it was the least he could do. Maybe then she would be free of any unfinished business on her planet.

First, he had to make sure she was on the right track to recovery.

The ship Sha'ktil-ar had taken wasn't equipped to support a human. He would have to put her back on ice in one of his cell chambers—used to transport dangerous bad bloods that were better off comatose during the trip.

She wouldn't be comfortable, but she also wouldn't be aware of that fact. It would have to do until he could go back to the planet he had taken residence on. There, he could employ his own _eta_ to tend to her while he was away. She was stable, if in pain, so she wouldn't need to be hooked up to any machinery to keep her alive.

 _Eta_ could handle general monitoring, if he told them what to look for.

*:･ﾟ✧

She nearly fell from the capsule when he opened it after the trip. He caught her against his arm and huffed. It was designed to keep things completely non-functional, so she shouldn't have shifted at all, let alone enough to make her fall out. Maybe he'd gone too easy on the sedative.

After a quick visual examination, he decided she was alright and picked her up to carry her into his residence. The ship was set to her physiology so he wouldn't have to retrofit a respirator.

Hopefully by now, the _eta_ he had called ahead for had made the necessary adjustments he'd requested. They should have had plenty of time to make at least the room his bed was in livable for his human companion.

For all intents and purposes, Sha'ktil-ar was retired from hunting. It wasn't a final thing, as he still went out when asked or when he got that itch. His rank had been secured for quite a while, and instead of becoming a clan leader he'd gone for the arbitrator route—a different kind of hunt that involved the criminals of their society.

Bad bloods. Those that broke their honorable codes and deserted the yautja culture.

When he wasn't working, he had a home on Yautja Prime. It was empty most of the time, though, as he was never content to sit still for long. He didn't need to hunt anymore, but he did so anyway to stave away boredom. After losing his clan on Earth to the crash, he hadn't wanted to join another and had been on his own ever since.

A lifestyle that suited him. He wouldn't have to worry about whether or not his clan mates approved of his choice in companionship.

He was greeted by a pair of cordial _eta_ of the same species as Davar's clan. They were a favorite among the yautja for their versatility and subservience. The in'qua were an intelligent and dexterous species that listened well, built not for combat but engineering, despite their ten-foot-tall stature and sharp features. They were hive-minded, not unlike the _kiande amedha_ , so they lacked the concept of free will. Without a queen, they followed whoever gave the orders.

The yautja told them what to make, and they made it. Life support, space-faring ships, whatever was needed. If they didn't have schematics, they invented something to their masters' specifics.

"Quarters ready," the first _eta_ said.

His response was a grunt and he went straight there, the two _eta_ following after him. Nichole tensed in his arms and started to cough, but he made it to his quarters before she started gasping. The door slid shut automatically behind him and he laid her out on his bed.

He watched to make sure she settled, and all seemed well enough. Her breathing evened, and she relaxed. Her fever had broken while she was on his ship, so her whimpers and discomfort had ceased. At some point, he would have to figure out a way to get her some fluids and food. Maybe the _eta_ could work something out.

With her condition somewhat stable, he turned to leave and educate the etas, but she stirred.

Half turned, he waited to see if she was waking.

However, it appeared she still seemed to be sleeping. A moment ago it had been peaceful, so he wondered what had changed. She was twitching and muttering incoherently, and her heart rate was slowly rising, as if she was fighting something that wasn't there.

A dream?

Whatever it was that she was dealing with in her sleep, she was afraid of it. Sha'ktil-ar sat near her on the bed and wondered if he should wake her, but didn't want to risk her not being able to fall back asleep. Sleep would aid in her recovery more than anything else would, so it was imperative it wasn't interrupted unnecessarily.

But he still felt like he should do something. He thought back to everything he knew about her, what he'd observed with other humans. Eventually, he was reminded of something another human had said to her once, back on her home planet when she was still an adolescent.

 _"Are you scared? You can hold my hand if you want to."_

That gesture had been enough to calm her then. It was worth a try now. He reached out and took her hand in his, marveling at how small hers was in comparison, how soft. If he were to squeeze just a little too hard, he would shatter all the tiny bones in her hand.

Such fragility. . .had he made the right decision taking her into his fold? Removing her from her relatively safe planet into the harsh world that he lived in?

When he thought back to all she'd been through, all her hard work and determination and the results it bore, his doubts melted away. She wasn't fragile. The fact that she was still alive was proof of that. If he'd left her on her planet, she would have wasted away and never lived up to her potential.

Nichole squeezed his hand and he turned his attention to her face. She was more relaxed, but her breathing had not yet returned to normal.

However, it was getting there. Her dream was no longer bothering her, at least.

Sha'ktil-ar was content with sitting with her for the time being, holding her hand. If it meant she got some good sleep after all she'd done for him and her own planet, then so be it. Once she was more comfortable and in a deeper sleep, he'd see about finding her human comrade, the one named Devon.


	15. Loose Ends

**Hello, readers!**

 **Another short one-shot, sorry! I feel like I may have rushed the end, so I might revise this one some more, but for now I think it's good enough. I'm not trying to stress myself out with perfection in these things, anyway. I'll save that for the main story. Here's a Devon POV, and I hope you guys like it! It's going to take place after _Nightmare_ , like the Wolf POV did. **

**Enjoy!**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Loose Ends

Devon tries to discover what happened to Nichole and is met by an "old friend". Rated T for language I guess.

* * *

The official story was that the power plant had had a critical failure and exploded, taking out the town of Gunnison, Colorado in a tragic snowball effect. A handful of people knew the truth outside of the government.

Cleanup crews came and went, trying to make sure all traces of the xenomorphs or the alleged predator. The four surviving citizens of the town had spoken about it.

Weyland Corporation was helming the financial burden, though federal agents ran the efforts.

Every member present knew that Weyland's ilk just wanted to get their hands on any assets unearthed. Assets they had already paid for. The feds were in charge of keeping the media on the outside, limited to helicopters and sectioned off areas that they'd already swept for contraband. They couldn't risk anything getting out, even the smallest thing.

Armed searches were limited to the woods in order to ensure no drones or warriors had escaped the blast radius. They'd found the site of the plane crash—the one that had started everything. Or, rather, what was left of it.

Nothing remained but a crater. Likely, it was the work of the predator. The hole in the ground was not unlike that from the jungle more than twenty years ago.

Most of the city had been canvased, but a few groups were left in the town proper.

One such team was being led by the single survivor of a two-man crew that the government had sent in to control the situation. It had been their reports that led to the decision that nothing could be done about Gunnison. His arm was in a sling, and he was supposed to be confined to his desk until was healed, but Federal Agent Devon Hart was relentless.

"Is this the place?" Devon shouted over his shoulder.

His underling jogged over with a map and checked it over, then nodded. "Yeah, the hospital should have been right here."

It was much the same as everywhere. Hardly any foundation standing, charred scrap beneath their feet. There was hardly anything left that even hinted at the hospital having once stood where they were standing.

"Alright," Devon said under his breath. Louder, he added, "If he didn't make it out, the predator's ship might in the debris. Get looking."

The half dozen agents working under him stared at him for a long moment.

"Well? You waiting for a written invitation?" snapped Devon.

They murmured amongst themselves but scattered and started combing through the aftermath. Devon huffed in approval and started a patrol around the debris, picking up whatever he could with one hand—unsure if he _wanted_ something to be found or not.

Either way, it meant she was gone forever.

At least if he knew she was alive, he could move on.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts. He stood up straight and turned an irritated gaze at the one interrupting his search.

"Why don't you take a break?" Hassan suggested.

"I just started, Joseph. I don't need a break," Devon said. "Weren't you overseeing the debriefing of those citizens?"

"Until they told me you'd left your desk. Someone else can handle them, though if you'd let those soldiers do what they were supposed to, we wouldn't have to waste the resources and time on them," his boss sighed.

Devon scowled at him and said, "If I hadn't pulled rank, they would have gunned me down, too. You probably wouldn't have even missed me."

"That's ridiculous, they knew to look for you," Hassan assured him with another shoulder pat.

He shrugged away from Hassan and went back to searching. "So I would have to have just watched them do it, then. Comforting."

"It wasn't personal. . . ."

"I don't wanna fucking hear it from you. Just let me search in peace."

"No, you're being relieved," Hassan insisted. "Go report to base camp."

Growling, Devon made a point of walking away from him and kicking up a plate of scrap to look underneath it. "Not gonna happen. I'm going to see this whole thing all the way through."

With a stern expression, Hassan said, "Devon, what are you going to do if you find what you're looking for? Any bodies you find here are just going to upset you until they're identified. Let us handle this, and we'll call you with any new developments."

"I can't just—"

"That is not a suggestion, it is an order! Go, before I fire you," came the angry admonishment from Hassan.

Though he was about to argue, the look on his boss' face made him shut his mouth. He scoffed and dropped his gaze, but said nothing as he shoved past Hassan. He ignored the sympathetic and pitying looks his fellow agents gave him.

Satisfied, Hassan turned to address the others. "Get back to searching."

Glancing over his shoulder one last time, then marched through the debris and toward operations. All the trees had been wiped out within a large radius of the town, leaving the entire area barren and exposed.

He took a detour, meandering around the desolation. If that brat hadn't shot him, he would have been able to take Dallas. Then he could have gone with Nichole. He could have stopped her and ensured her safety all along. Now he was left wondering what had become of her, wondering which charred remains would wind up being hers.

The real thing that bothered him was trying to decide if he preferred that over the alternative.

*:･ﾟ✧

 _This isn't Gunnison._

Devon looked around and rubbed his head. Light filtered through the canopy above, but he didn't remember reaching the tree line during his walk. In fact, he didn't remember finishing his walk. Or any of the middle. He'd been thinking about Nichole, and the helicopter and then. . . .

A growl pulled him from his confusion and he looked around while jumping to his feet. A large, hulking, familiar figure was standing before him.

Any disorientation he'd had was overshadowed by a bout of anger.

"You!" Devon spat. "Where's Nichole you son of a bitch?"

Even in a sling and no hope of winning, Devon stomped toward the alien Nichole called Wolf. The predator grabbed him, though, and held him back with a steady arm, chittering in irritation.

"What happened to her? Is she alive?" Devon demanded, yanking himself free.

His kidnapper nodded. Devon relaxed somewhat but continued to glare. Though he was afraid he knew the answer, he asked, "Can I see her?

This time, a head shake.

"Because she can't, or you won't let her?"

Wolf held up a single finger, and Devon figured that meant it was option number one. For some reason, she was unable to come see him. That knowledge didn't make him feel any better; quite the opposite. What had happened after she'd left him to escape on the helicopter?

"Is she okay?" he asked.

No answer came for longer than Devon liked, but eventually, Wolf nodded.

"I don't think I believe you," he said, crossing his arm over his chest, underneath his splinted arm. "But she's not dead?"

Another answer in the affirmative.

"Prove it."

Snorting, the alien shifted his stance and then a voice played through his mask. It felt like Wolf had driven a nail through his chest.

 _"Tell him I'm sorry. I need them to know I'm okay, that I'm fine."_

There was a frantic edge to her voice, something he rarely ever heard. She was always so composed and—well sometimes she was angry, but he'd never known Nichole to truly panic. In that recording, though, she sounded close.

Desperate.

"What happened to her? Who's 'them'?"

The first question was ignored, but the second one wasn't. If Devon had thought she'd sounded bad in the first recording, she sounded nearly hysterical in the one Wolf had prepared this time.

 _"He needs to know what to tell my mom!"_

He could do nothing but scoff. "Tell her mom what? That she's alive but not on earth anymore? That she ran off with some guy? I can't just. . .I can't just explain all this away with some generic excuse!

The alien merely stared at him.

"Yeah, yeah. . . . 'That's not my problem' right? You're just relaying a message," Devon said, shaking his head. "A real. . .shitty. . . ."

Devon sighed. There was no reason to stay mad at Nichole, even if she'd placed upon his shoulders an impossible task. She just didn't want her mother to worry; she didn't want him to worry. At least now that he knew, there was no doubt about the relief he felt knowing she was alive. Maybe not in the best condition, but alive.

"Never mind. You better just promise me something."

Wolf harrumphed and squared his shoulders.

"Just listen, big shot. If she wants to come back, you're gonna let her come back, you got that?" Devon said, jabbing an index finger at Wolf. "You take care of her, you hear me? I don't care if I have to build a rocket ship myself, I'll find you and I'll kick your ass if you don't!"

Both stared at each other for a few moments, then Wolf approached him with a saunter. Devon almost took a step back but forced himself to stay put.

Before Devon could say something, Wolf gave him a hardy slap on the back, making him stumble forward several steps. Devon let out a sharp sound but managed not to fall over, though she came pretty close.

It hadn't seemed to be a malicious gesture, so Devon chose not to take it as such. He asked, "You'll take care of her?"

Standing up straight, Wolf gave Devon a sincere nod. Devon examined him and took in the impassive expression on his mask. It didn't seem like he was making fun of him or just trying to shut him up. Then again, it was hard to tell anything about the giant gargoyle.

For now, he'd just have to trust him.

"Well—great. Now. . .which way do I gotta go to get back?"

There was so much more he wanted to demand. He wanted to make Wolf bring Nichole back and let human doctors take care of whatever injuries she had, but that wouldn't do any good. Part of him wanted this alien to take _him_ to her but knew that would do no good, and would likely be denied immediately. This was what Nichole had wanted. She'd intended to go with this barbaric alien the entire time. So, he would just wait. Wait until she changed her mind and wanted to come back to Earth.

She had to. This was where she really belonged, with him and with her own kind. The novelty would wear off, she'd learn how horrid this species was and come back. He had to cling to that belief, for as long as it took. He'd wait if he could. Nichole would always have something to come back to if he could help it.

Heaving a sigh, Wolf pointed toward what remained of the mountain town.

Devon followed the alien's gesture with his eyes, then grimaced. "Any chance you can reverse kidnap me?"

Without a word or a sound, Wolf disappeared. Devon couldn't even follow his light distortion or footsteps. Pulling a face, Devon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

All for the best. He had plenty to think about now.


	16. Step by Step

**Hello, readers!**

 **Sorry it's been a while since I updated this. Been working on stuff. x.x I haven't posted anything in relation to Nightmare in a while, and I couldn't get this scene out of my head. So, here it is! A post-Nightmare one-shot to hopefully keep all of you sated until I can actually start work on Insomnia. ;) Sorry that's taking so long, too lolol. I hope to start work on it sometime at the beginning of the year, after I have Sparrow and Phantasm all revised and stuff.**

 **There will also be Nightmare revision to look forward to, as well!**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Step By Step

Wolf helps Nichole with her physical therapy and offers some comfort. Rated T, I guess?

* * *

"Just walk."

" _I_ am _walking."_

The joint in my leg brace hitched when I stepped; I nearly fell but caught myself.

"One foot in front of the other."

 _"I know how to walk! It's these braces."_

Wolf clicked his tusks in disapproval and motioned toward the bed next to which he stood. I shot him a sour look, then harrumphed and tried to make it to my target destination. He wasn't going to let me off the hook until I walked there by myself. No matter how long it took.

Even if I was trying to make some ghetto-rigged alien leg braces work.

This wasn't the first time I'd gone through rehab. Last time, it had been in an actual facility with a pleasant gentleman who had me walking with the help of two railings on either side of me.

And had walked behind me in case I fell.

Wolf was just waiting for me at the goal with that expectant fucking look, taller than life itself and ready to make me try again if I fell.

Whoever he'd found to give me the surgery should've just left the fucking pins in my knee. But _no,_ they thought it was weird that I had metal in my bones. Now, it was either risk another invasive surgery with aliens that knew next to nothing about my anatomy except when it came to inventive ways of murder—or wear the struts on both of my legs and learn to live with them.

After the first surgery had me laid out for what had seemed like months, the choice had been an absolute no-brainer.

Ghetto-ass alien leg braces.

I was not going under their knife again if I could help it.

"Just _walk_."

. . .and, of course, I had to live with Wolf's impatience.

Glaring at him made me feel a little better but didn't help me move. Taking a deep breath, I glanced at the _eta_ —slave—on standby in the corner. Those things gave me the creeps with their unblinking fly eyes. Much worse than Wolf's mask. At least I was used to it. I took a little comfort in the fact that it was just the one and not both of them. When they were together, they _chatted_. Sounded like two sheets of sandpaper rubbing against each other. Made my skin crawl.

Eyes back on the path ahead of me, I took another test step. The brace locked and I gnashed my teeth together, forcing the joint to move with my leg. Wolf shifted and I lifted my hand to cut him off before he could make another asinine comment.

" _I swear, if you tell me to_ walk _one more time, I'm gonna kick your ass. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day I'll kick your ass and say 'that's for telling me to_ walk _six million times.' You hear me_?" I ranted, pointing an accusatory finger at him and locking eyes with his mask. It was probably akin to a kitten challenging a tiger but the guy was irritating me.

He huffed in amusement. "I hope that you will speak it in yautja."

Rolling my eyes, I muttered, _"Sorry I can't grunt and growl or click like you can."_

After he made another amused chuff, I returned to trying to ignore him and lifted my leg. I flexed my knee but the cross-beams were still stiff. I did it a few more times until the clicking and tension became familiar.

Once again, I inhaled. I put weight on the leg—though that wasn't the issue—and then took a couple halting steps. The brace. . .god dammit, it was too tight! I could barely move my leg.

The other leg wasn't like it. It was just the right one.

The one I'd been limping with for over five years. My damn mentor expected me to just undo five years of habitual limping within the span of—Jesus I didn't have any sense of time in this place.

Somehow, even though the thing on my leg fought me the entire time, I managed to travel all the way to the bed. It took forever and my muscles ached from battling the streamlined piece of technology, but I did it.

Collapsing on my stomach, I groaned into the furs before rolling onto my back to stare up at Wolf. " _Happy_?" I asked.

Wolf grunted his approval and heaved me by my arms further up the bed before taking a seat next to me. The mattress sank and I scooted over a tad to make room for him. It was made to fit two yautja, but I'd flopped over close to the edge.

"Yes," he said, giving the _eta_ a curt click afterward.

It scuttled over immediately, its arachnid-like mouthparts fluttering as it tried to form yautja words. In its heavy accent, it said, "Master?"

"Loosen the right by two units," Wolf ordered.

The eta lowered its angular head in acquiescence and unfolded its arms out from under its mantis-shaped claws to take a hold of my legs with its fingers. Their species—something like _orfi_ , Wolf had said—had two sets of arms but only used the top set to grasp. The other pair was too short to be handy. Unlike Earth arachnids, they didn't have two sets of legs. Just tall, digitigrade, needle-like stilts.

Those slender fingers with too many joints fiddled with the wiring and machinations of my brace. Each joint in its digits made a ticking noise when it moved.

" _So it was too tight_ ," I pointed out.

"Not much. It needs to be tight to strengthen your leg. You have been favoring it too much for too long," he explained, using simple words and clauses so it was easy for me to follow. I still had to fill in some blanks with context clues, but I was improving.

Still couldn't speak more than a handful of random words and a couple phrases, but it was something. At least I could understand him for the most part.

Only took hours upon hours of having Wolf and his slaves babble at me.

They were in the same boat as me, the _eta_. They had issue forming certain syllables thanks to their own insectoid mouthparts.

He continued. "If you do not make your leg strong, strengthen it, the brace will do more damage if you try anything more difficult than a few steps across the room."

" _What do you mean,_ 'more damage' _?"_ I asked, repeating the same phrase in his language.

For a moment, he considered how best to explain. The _eta_ stopped its finagling and backed away, stooped low until it was back in the corner. The _orfi_ were two heads taller than the _yautja_ , so they always made sure to lower themselves. From the corner, it watched, like an almost literal fly on the wall. I kept expecting it to skitter up to perch on the ceiling.

At last, Wolf spoke. "The brace is doing much of the work for your leg, in order to compensate for the bad bone. If your leg cannot keep up to some degree, it may snap."

 _"Oh, goody,"_ I huffed after he explained "compensate" to me upon my request.

Wolf grunted. "So, you must walk."

 _"Before I can run,"_ I finished.

"Yes."

Grimacing, I struggled to sit up. Wolf waited for a beat, then took my arm and pulled me upright. He said, "Your strength will return when the incision and your insides heal."

 _"_ Incision _?"_ I repeated, rolling the foreign word on my tongue and attempting the click with my teeth. I was going to have to learn a better way to recite that damn clicking. With my tongue, maybe? Snapping it against my teeth? I'd have to try.

When I was alone. And he couldn't make fun of me.

Instead of saying anything, he demonstrated by brushing the tip of his clawed finger against the jagged and healing scar at the bottom of my ribs.

 _"Oh_ ," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

I was wearing what yautja considered casual wear—a whole lot of _nothing._

All of my clothes had been cut to shreds so they could operate on me. When I'd had the strength, I'd managed to convince him to bring me some thin furs to use as a wrap. It had taken some time, but I'd eventually wore him down enough. He'd brought me a loincloth and something resembling a bra, modeled after the one they'd shredded. My mask, he'd told me, was still in the works.

Wolf, however, was fine walking around in all his _naked glory_ when he wasn't wearing his armor. And he only wore his armor when he was hunting.

We were left with a pregnant silence and Wolf let his hand drop. I swallowed the lump in my throat and, with some hesitation, traced the mark with my fingertips. It extended from the bottom of my ribs all the way down to just above my pelvic bone. The scar was faint and pale against the rest of my skin, the jaggedness caused by shoddy suturing. My leg sported similar marks where they'd removed the pins holding my knee together.

But the rods missing from my kneecap weren't what was causing the knot to form in my stomach. It was the raised tissue on my abdomen. It was the things that had caused it, that had been resting just beneath the surface inside me.

I pressed my lips together to keep them from quivering.

"It is over," Wolf said quietly, gently bumping my shoulder.

It was then that I realized that I'd stopped breathing. I drew in a breath and peeked at him from the corner of my eyes. I wished I could learn to read his expressions, but the room was set my comfortable breathing, so he needed his mask. One day, I'd have my own and he could take a break from the mask every now and again.

"I know," I sighed. One of the _yautja_ phrases I had down pat.

Except it wasn't. Over. For me. I could still feel the hybrid's mandibles digging into the back of my head and the intrusion that was forced down my throat. My free hand balled into a fist around the furs beneath me and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"It is over," Wolf said again, not unkindly but with more force.

Nodding, I pulled my hand away from the incision and rubbed my head. I still didn't understand why he'd bothered to commission someone to operate on me, but I didn't want to talk about it. I looked around, desperate for a change of topic, and my eyes fell on the _eta_.

" _What's its name?"_ I asked, indicating to the bug. It turned its head slightly toward me, aware that we were talking about it.

Wolf spent another heartbeat watching me, then turned to look at the mantis alien. He cocked his head to the side, then clicked once. " _Eta_ ," he said with his gaze back on me. The insect took half a step toward us, then realized we weren't beckoning it.

" _Thaitsit's title, not a name._ A name. Like Wolf, or Nichole," I elaborated, switching to a complete butcher of his language to try and make my point.

"They do not have names. They are slaves."

Clicking my tongue in disapproval, I studied the creature in the corner for a moment.

 _Oh._

" _Creature_!"

There was a moment of silence before Wolf made a curious sound.

I pointed at the _eta_ and said " _They're all male, right?_ Male?"

"Yes." He said it as if he had no idea where I was going with any of this. That wasn't anything new. Guy understood English but he didn't understand the Nichole-isms. Probably lost in translation. I just hoped my isms would carry over into his language.

" _Then I'll call him Creature. That's his name. The other one can be Critter. Critter and Creature."_

"Naming them is not—"

Ignoring Wolf, I hailed the slave in broken Yautja. "You! You are now answer to Creature."

"Will. You will answer to Creature," Wolf corrected me with the closest thing to a whisper his big brutish race had.

"Will. Answer to Creature. That is your name," I repeated.

The now-dubbed Creature stared at me for what seemed to be several minutes before he shifted his head the barest hint to glance at Wolf.

"She is as in charge of you as I am," he reminded Creature with a sharp rebuttal.

Creature ducked his head and relented. "Yes. Am Creature."

Feeling all too pleased with myself, I shot Wolf a smug grin complete with a wiggling of my shoulders. He snorted and grumbled, "Instead of naming slaves, you should pick a name for yourself."

At first I opened my mouth to make a smart retort, but I closed it shortly after and stared at him, confused. " _I have a name. It's Nichole,"_ I said, mirroring the habit he had of cocking his head to the side when he was trying to figure something out.

"That is your old name. You can choose a new one if you want. You could have the day I blooded you, but the. . .it was not the right time," he explained, pausing shortly to reconsider his wording.

" _Because you had no way to explain that yet?"_

"Yes."

I wet my lips and stared down at my lap. " _I don't know enough of your language to do that."_

"Tell me what you would like and I will help."

" _Do I have to pick now?"_

He shook his head. "No. You can choose any time."

"Okay. Thank you."

His chest swelled when I managed to say those three simple words in what was probably the closest I was ever going to come to a perfect accent. I rolled my eyes at him and averted my gaze. It was always so embarrassing when I made him proud.

Back in English, I said, _"I've been practicing your name. Since I probably can't call you Wolf when we're around others. Do you want me to stop calling you Wolf altogether?"_

"I am fine with the name. You do not have to change for the others."

"Is it not more respite—respect?" I wanted to try, but god _damn_ his language was hard on my throat. Like gargling rocks or shouting at a concert for five hours.

Well, at least Wolf was okay with me speaking English.

If I only knew enough to make it through short conversations with other yautja, I'd be okay.

"Respectful. It does not matter. All of the most honored are known by one name or another," he explained. "You were not known by other names by any other humans? What is your word for it. . .a side name?"

 _"Nickname. And no, not me, but my friend Jess—"_ My throat closed and I balled my hands into fists. I should be over it, but it still hurt. _"Jess was short for Jessica. Some called her Jessie. Teachers were known by their last names instead of first names. Entertainers usually had a stage name, like The Rock or Lady Gaga."_

"Then the same could be said here."

 _"Do you have any nicknames?"_

He chittered in amusement. "I am sure I do, but none call them to my face. Then there is what you call me. And you did have a. . . _nickname_. Once."

 _"I think I remember. Kind of. What was it?"_

"Clua-lsih'wei."

"What does it mean?" Nope, still not any easier on my throat.

For a moment, I almost thought he was a bit uncomfortable. Or embarrassed. He looked away from me and his shoulders dropped. "You make a lot of noise."

I choked out a bark of laughter. _"Are you serious?"_

"Yes. Worry not, I do not refer to you as such in front of others."

 _"Not even Brutus?"_

The following pause made me think I knew the answer, but he finally raised his head and responded. "Ah. You mean Ra-ilt. I cannot recall. Maybe."

 _"I'll just assume you did, then."_

Wolf huffed and stood back up, motioning for me to do the same. "Your break is over. Stand up and walk to the door."

Groaning, I rolled off the bed and tried again. I distracted myself from the difficulty by trying to think of what kind of name I wanted to have. One that wasn't some sort of back-handed remark about how noisy I was.


	17. Float

**Hello, readers!**

 **Here's another really quick one-shot I wrote for a daily prompt. Today's prompt was "your oldest ship" and, well, I've been writing/thinking about these two since I was like, 14, so they qualify! I won't be able to write for all the prompts since, these two are technically one of my only and most favorite ships and they'll be hard to write for some of the planned prompts. Maybe one will work for Jazz and Kat. . .I'll have to see! That would be a nice surprise for my Transformers fans.**

 **Anyway, here's this one. Enjoy it! To answer my guest, yes! I can certainly write a Wolf POV of him and Nichole reuniting. :) Look forward to it! If you guys want, I can take requests for alternate chapters/scenes, too! Like, maybe you want to see an alternate ending of a canon chapter, or a "What if this happened instead of this" then let me know!**

 **And don't worry, Insomnia is still happening. Just hope these little one-shots can tide you over until then!**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Float

Nichole is feeling down, so Wolf helps cheer her up. Rated T.

* * *

I thought space would be. . .more.

More colorful. Bigger. Brighter. Full of stars and novas and. . .other space things.

But it was empty.

Cold.

Dark.

Unending.

There was never anything to see outside any of the viewports. In fact, there weren't even very many viewports. Space was so empty, and the yautja had such a limit on what they could see with the naked eye that they didn't have a need for them. Anything they needed to see was projected on the bridge's equipment.

Day in and day out—god, I didn't even know if it was days. There were no _days_ in space.

I couldn't tell up from down.

We could be hurtling through space at impossible speeds while upside down and I wouldn't have any fucking clue.

It was like being on a road trip. You only had the same three things to do, except one of them wasn't looking out the window at all the neat scenery passing you by.

And the dangers were all guaranteed death.

Loss of power meant hoping that someone could come pick us up, meanwhile we're breathing all the rest of our air.

A single piece of space debris could punch through the hull and we'd just break apart. Thrust into the cold, endless vacuum of space. Stuck drifting as just another frozen hunk of space jettison.

"Are you alright?"

I jumped in surprise, flinging my fur blankets off me. I'd been bundled inside them like a cocoon. It wasn't cold on the ship by any means, but it had made me feel better.

Wolf was standing there in the doorway, his head cocked.

Sighing, I relaxed and sat back down.

"You are on edge."

"No," I muttered, pulling the blankets back over my head and curling up on the bed.

They were ripped off again and I groaned, curling into an even tighter ball. Wolf picked me up under the arms like I was a child and held me up at his eye level while I glowered at him.

"What is wrong? Are you in pain?"

"No."

"If you cannot explain in my language, you know you are allowed to use yours."

I huffed and sagged in his grip. " _Space is boring. I thought it would be more interesting—and how do you travel all the time like this? Are you sure this ship is safe?"_

Though I had a pretty mediocre handle on his spoken language, it was still somewhat beyond what I could speak, myself.

How was I supposed to handle all that clicking in the language?

An amused rumble vibrated in his chest and he sat me back down on the bed. "Yes, the ship is safe. It has seen me through many safe trips."

"Fine. I belief you."

"Believe."

" _Whatever_."

"I cannot do anything about space being _boring_ , though."

Sighing, I fell back to stare up at the ceiling. " _It's not your fault. On Earth, we have these things, movies, where people pretend and there's a lot of them set in space—it's silly_."

Wolf clicked his tusks together in curiosity. "What happened in these. . . _movies_?"

I shrugged and said, " _Usually bad things. Explosions. Space debris destroying the ship. People getting shot out of airlocks. . . ."_

"Your species does not have a good grasp on space travel. These things they depict happening is because it is largely unknown to you," Wolf surmised.

" _Yeah, yeah. We fear the unknown, blah blah_."

"What else were you expecting?" he asked.

I waved my arms in front of me, trying to summon my expectations. " _I guess, floating around in zero gravity, big beautiful space. . .novas or giant stars. You know, stuff to look at."_

"It is largely empty, though."

"Yes, I learning this."

"Am. I am learning this."

"Yes."

"You are getting better."

" _Sure_."

We were silent for a moment while I pouted, then I groaned and rolled over onto my stomach. I took a deep breath, then sat up and put a hand to my head.

"I am sorry."

"For what?"

Lips pursed, I turned to face him and rubbed my face. " _I'm being insufferable. I'm just—I still can't sleep well and being out here makes me nervous. Space, I mean. It's so big and empty and cold and. . . . Empty."_

"It is a big adjustment. You will get used to it. I will have the slaves readjust the atmosphere to match yours and I will wear my mask."

I shook my head. "No, no. _It's fine. That's not what's keeping me awake_."

It was the fear of being purged out the airlock or exploding in a fiery ball of death if we collided with space gas and—

Wolf grumbled in thought, then took me by the arm and led me out of our room.

"Where are go?"

"Where are we going," he corrected me. He did that a lot. "I am taking you to the bridge. There is one thing I can do."

I opened my mouth to ask, but I closed it again and just let him tug me along. In the grand scheme of things, the trips didn't take that much time. It didn't make me feel any better; just meant that was how fast we were going.

So fast I could see another planet without living eight lifetimes.

That's some science fiction shit to try and wrap your head around. Wolf didn't keep track of time, nor did Creature and Critter—the two _eta_ , or slaves—so I was stuck guessing how long I'd been on the ship.

I wondered for a second if he was just going to take my mind off things by training me—which was really just fancy talk for beating me up since I couldn't yet hold my own against him—but we didn't do that on the bridge. There was a special room for that.

One that made it hurt less when he laid me out in the end.

He had me stand off to the side while he took a seat in the captain's chair. The big, open viewport up front showed nothing but a big black void with some stars peppered in.

It was better than the view from the mountains, but still. I thought it would be more.

"What now?" I asked

"This."

Wolf strapped himself into his chair and punched in a few commands on his computer. I crossed my arms over my chest, then gasped when my feet left the floor.

" _Wolf what the fuck?"_ I yelped, flailing my arms to try and right myself. All it did was—nothing. I just kept floating up.

Managed only to turn myself around.

"You mentioned _zero gravity_ ," he said, looking up at me. He was still in his chair, but anything loose—like his thick dreads—was free floating around him.

I twisted and turned, unable to keep the nervous grin off my face. Eventually, I made it all the way to the ceiling and I pushed off it, floating back toward the floor. It was at a weird angle, though, so I was also headed toward the control panel in front of Wolf.

" _Wha—you can just turn it off?"_

"Yes."

The door to the bridge opened and the two insect-like slave aliens skittered in, crawlin along the ceiling and floor.

 _Cheaters!_

"Masters!" Critter screeched.

Creature said, "Gravity offline. Do not know!"

"I did it. I will turn it back on soon. Return to your duties," Wolf explained, brushing them off with a decisive click of his tusks.

They were silent for a second, looking between the freefalling me and the strapped in Wolf. Then, the two of them conversed with each other before dipping their heads.

"Apology."

"Did not know."

Wolf dismissed them with another click and they scuttled off the bridge.

" _This is so neat!"_ I squealed, bumping into a monitor and knocking askew. Though I reached out to fix it, I had already out of range. "Sorry!"

Finally, after a lot of bumping and ricocheting, I managed to control my weightlessness a little more. When I was ready to stop wandering aimlessly, Wolf took my hand and pulled me down to him.

I'd had to push myself within arm's reach, though. Doing that at the right angle had been harder than I thought it was.

"Are you satisfied?" Wolf asked, his tusks set in smug amusement.

I was more breathless than usual, flushed from the hard work and thrill of floating around. "Y-yes. I. . .I _think so_."

"Think so," he supplied.

"I think so," I repeated. " _It's hard work."_

He nodded and typed on his computer. Within a second, gravity had returned, and I fell into Wolf's lap with a surprised squeal, draped across him. He was still holding my wrist, I had one foot on the ground, and the rest of me was precariously strewn about on top of him.

" _That was weird,_ " I breathed, taking a moment to catch my breath. Impossible with the atmosphere of the ship some sort of mixture so the two of us could breathe.

Wolf laughed in his own way and fiddled with his computer some more.

After a hiss from the vents, breathing was suddenly not so difficult. I took a few deep breaths, then let him help me sit up.

"I am good," I said.

He nodded and returned the air to what it was before. Though he could tolerate the chemical composition of my air for short bursts, I couldn't withstand his at all. This was the best possible compromise.

All at once, I realized where I was sitting. I jumped up and hid my embarrassment, turning my head to the window up front.

"Thank you. _That was fun, but. . .I think I've had my fill of zero gravity now."_

Wolf rumbled his acknowledgment and stood up from his chair. "As you wish. Now, if we are done playing, let us train."

I groaned but followed him all the same. " _You mean get the shit beat out of me."_

"You will improve."

" _Ugh!"_


	18. Pain

**Hello, readers!**

 **Here's another one-shot I wrote for the shipping event on Facebook. The prompt for today was "The Ship with the Worst Chemistry". Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Wolf and Nichole have BAD chemistry. . .it's just not as good as, like, what Kat and Jazz have. When things are good, they're good, but when things are bad. . .well, it can be _bad_**. **No relationship is without its ups and downs, though!**

 **So, enjoy this little peek into the bad.**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

Pain

Nichole realizes life with Wolf isn't all stardust and glory. Rated T.

* * *

The smack of her weight hitting the padded floor rang out, almost making her wince more than the collision had. Her ears were ringing, but she couldn't let that distract her.

She scrambled up and barely missed being stomped on before she could roll to her feet. Her footing was unsteady, she could barely see.

But, she got her hands up all the same and managed to block a blow to her face. It still sent her reeling, but she remained upright and stumbled back and away, trying to give herself some distance. Enough to recover—if just a little.

Her limits, however, had been reached.

"I yield, I yield," she gasped, falling to her knees and putting her hands up, palms facing out. It was one of the first things he'd taught her.

He relaxed his fighting stance and took her by the arm, helping her up to her feet.

"Again."

" _I can't—I_. . .I want to stop," she panted in and out of both languages, clinging to his arm to keep herself from collapsing. She already had a hard enough time catching her breath in the ship's artificial atmosphere, and after extraneous exercise, it was almost impossible to breathe at all.

Though he let her hold on to him, he kept himself at a professional distance. "We cannot," he said. There were whispers of an apology there, but it wasn't enough.

" _But I can't_ —"

"You must. You will not always be able to stop when you are tired. Your enemies will not always care. Yautja live by a code, but those we hunt do not."

She tried not to sound too whiny when she said, "There are limits!"

"We must remove your limits."

Groaning, she let him go and backed up, blinking sweat out of her eyes and swallowing the blood-flavored saliva that had pooled in her mouth. There was no arguing with him.

So, she readied herself and put her arms up. She tried to ignore the pain, the aches, and the fire in her lungs.

He was only trying to help her.

Trying to make her stronger.

 _Better_.

When he came, he came hard and fast. She sluggishly lifted her arms higher, blocking his left, before she ducked under his right.

The braces on her legs helped to correct some of her sloppy footwork, but not enough. She stumbled when trying to lean away from another hook, and he threw his weight into her. She toppled over and hit the floor hard enough to see stars in her eyes.

"Get up," he prompted—not unkindly—when she didn't immediately do so.

"I yield," she mumbled, her voice thick, reflecting the fuzz that filled her brain. She couldn't even force herself into the right posture.

He watched her for a second, then took her arm to help her up. "Again."

She yanked her arm free and staggered away, almost falling over again. " _I_ can't _! I need a break! I need water, I need time. I'm_ exhausted _and I can't—I can't even. . .I can't. . . ."_

"You are improving. Do not get frustrated. We only need to work on your endurance—"

 _"_ _Not like this! Running me into the—into the ground won't. . .it won't help!"_ she insisted, unable to stand on her own. She had to lean against the nearest wall to stay upright. _"I have to stop."_

His three tusks clicked together in what was the closest thing to sympathy his kind could show. "Soon. You have to work past your limits."

In the face of his indifference, she couldn't help the frustrated scream that came out of her.

" _I'm not like you!"_ she wailed. " _I'm human! I'm not—not anything like you. I can't do the, the things you do, I can't be what you want me to be!"_

"That is not what I want," he growled.

Her legs finally gave out and she slid to the floor, fighting hard against the tears that threatened to fall. " _Then what_ do _you want?"_ she demanded.

He came over and kneeled down next to her, his arms resting on his knees. "I want you to be as strong as you can be. I want others to see the same thing in you that I do."

She shook her head and gasped for enough air to say what she wanted to. " _How are you going to accomplish that if you kill me during training?"_

When he didn't answer right away, she continued, " _Because that's what's going to happen if you don't give me room to_ breathe _. Room to recover. Things stop working for me when they're damaged. And if too many things stop working. . . ."_

For a moment, he considered what she was saying. He looked her over, considered the bright spots all over her body, the darkened areas, and the wheezing in her chest.

"Perhaps I overestimated a little."

" _I just need. . .a little more slack."_

Nodding, he stood up and put in a command on his personal computer. After a few seconds, the vents in the room hissed and cooler, oxygen-rich air poured inside. She closed her eyes with relief and slowly pushed herself to her feet, waving him off when he tried to help.

It hurt to stand, and it hurt to put her arms over her head, but it made breathing easier. Sitting curled up like she had been wouldn't have helped at all. She knew that much from her days of soccer.

Her mentor watched her, then rattled some advice. "Use your legs more. Those braces are there to help. Utilize them."

She glanced at him, then nodded.

With that, he left to fetch his mask. He could withstand so much oxygen for short stints, but he planned to leave the artificial atmosphere for a while. To make things easier for her.

He wasn't worried about the _eta_. They could breathe in almost anything.

The last thing he wanted to do was coddle her, but he supposed taking a step back, remembering their differences, wasn't a bad idea.

After he was gone, she waited another ten seconds, slowly counting them out in her head.

Then, she collapsed.

Coughing, wheezing, she spat up the blood sticking to her throat and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She made a strained yell through gritted teeth and held her arms around her stomach.

But, she didn't allow herself to cry.

With him gone, she could curl up and quietly scream in pain all she wanted; regret not asking for a break earlier.

She wanted to be strong for him.

She wanted to be able to keep up with him.

That was a long way away, though. She had lost a lot of her gains after that invasive surgery. The medicine they'd given her and the hack job on her insides had left her laid out for what she could only assume had been months.

One month was already too long to be bedridden, let alone multiple months.

Whimpering, she set her forehead down on the floor and focused on breathing through the aches and pains.

They were so different. His expectations were sky high because of his upbringing and culture. In her mind, there was no way she would ever be able to reach them.

Why?

Why had she ever thought that this would be a good idea? The tears she'd been fighting so hard to keep locked up finally spilled past her defenses.

She'd thought she could make this work. Now she wasn't so sure.

This was way past the point of safe return. Literal light years away. She had to make it work. If this was the hardest part, she _could_ make it work.

No matter how high his expectations, she would reach them.

Whatever it took.


	19. So Foreign

**Hello, readers!**

 **So...I've done a thing. A thing some of you have been chomping at the bit for. I gotta tell you, I'm SUPER NERVOUS about sharing this. I wasn't going to but Citrine has insisted lmao. She helped me fix it up from the first draft, and I've been fiddling with it and editing it for like three weeks now because I want it to be as close to perfect as it can be. I'm afraid it's not going to be EXACTLY what has been asked for, but they have to start somewhere.**

 **I have to start somewhere lmao. I don't normally write this kind of thing, you know!**

 _ **Erotica.**_

 **Anyway, please be gentle. This is my first time sharing anything remotely close to this and I'm FREAKING OUT OVER HERE. I can guarantee you I sat there staring at the "add chapter" button for 80 years before finally submitting this. You guys should definitely send Citrine Nebulae some love because without her support and voice in my ear chanting "post it, post it, post it!" I probably wouldn't have posted it lmao. I'll share this on A03 when the story catches up over there.**

 **~ Crayola**

* * *

So Foreign

A highly requested, intimate one-shot between Wolf and Nichole. Rated MATURE.

* * *

Usually, a warm bath does wonders to help me relax. The stress of being in space just sort of melts away while I'm enjoying something I thought I wouldn't have when I first resolved to go with Wolf. Now, though, I still can't shake the feeling of restlessness circulating through me. I thought a bath would do me good, but all it's doing is making my fingers prune.

This strange anxiety was making me a nightmare to live with, I just knew it. Not even an hour ago—or _whatever_ amount of time it was out here in fucking space—I practically bit off poor Critter's head because I couldn't find my mask.

It wasn't even his fault. I'm the one who misplaced the damn thing. Even Wolf seems to be avoiding me, but he also has a ship to run. I don't expect him to entertain me all the time.

I certainly wish _something_ entertained me, though. I'm ready for some action. Any action. It has to have been ages since we visited the last planet or clanship. Even on those ships, though we weren't hunting, there was stuff going on. Other _insecure_ yautja trying to assert their dominance over the tiny blooded human, mostly. All I can do while trapped on this cozy ship is wander around, sulk, or get the shit beat out of me by a ripped, half-naked alien man.

 _Or I can help Critter and Creature with the chores_.

However, Wolf hates it when I do that. I definitely don't feel like being given the third degree over making myself useful.

" _Let them do it."_

" _That is_ their _job."_

" _They do not need your help."_

With a haughty huff, I sink lower into the warm, soothing water up to my neck. The yautja race is millenniums ahead of us technologically but still living in the dark times of Earth. Those times when we felt the need to enslave "lesser" races to do the shit we didn't want to.

Some of it, at least, seems to be out of necessity. I'm certain that if Critter and Creature weren't aboard, the ship would be covered in space duct tape instead of actual repairs. Wolf seems to know as much about the ship's inner machinations as I do. Guy probably knows of eight million ways to kill a man but can't screw in a lightbulb on his own.

I chortle quietly to myself at the thought, then duck down beneath the water's surface to rinse my head and hair before I leave.

Even though I miss showers, a hot bath is fine, too. Wolf calls it a "soak" instead of a bath. Probably like how Jess' milk snake used to wallow in its water dish when it was preparing to shed. He even has a coarse stone, like pumice or something similar, to shear off his dead reptilian skin. I don't use that much unless I feel exceptionally soiled after a hunt or something—it leaves my much more delicate skin feeling raw.

Instead, there are a few things that only I use: something like a washcloth that I fastened out of a small piece of cloth Wolf procured for me and another larger one that I used to towel off with. Fabric, or any similar textiles, were apparently expensive luxuries that were reserved for those of high rank and honor.

Like Wolf.

 _Lucky me!_

Wolf normally just walks around naked, dripping wet, until he dries off with time. Then he has the nerve to say _I'm_ the weird one for using a tool to expedite the process.

Since the water has long since lost any real heat, I set the basin to drain and pull myself out. The water on the ship has a sort of industrial smell to it like it has all kinds of additives. It still tastes fine when I drink it, at least, so there's no real reason to make a big deal out of it. We're in freaking space. I'll take what I can get.

Sighing, I rake my fingers through my hair to coax out the tangles. I had to go through the greasy adjustment of no longer using shampoo and conditioner, but eventually, my scalp figured out the whole natural oils situation and now I don't feel like a dirty fucking Hippie all the time. I still miss having a proper brush, but every time I try to explain what they are to the two _eta_ aboard, they always come back with the most literal interpretation of what a goddamn brush or comb is.

A weird, sponge-like thing with needles poking out of it, a fake ass stick with _real ass teeth_ attached—untangled hair isn't worth that shit. I still don't know where they found those teeth and Wolf just shakes with silent laughter when I bring it up.

I'm betting that he orchestrated the whole thing.

The next time we visit a clan, I'll just have to find someone willing to tie my hair into braids or knots. I'll even take dreads at this rate. Maybe shave it all off. I sigh and continue pulling the tangles out by hand. The last thing I can do is imagine myself completely bald. There are no real mirrors, only shiny and reflective surfaces, but that was enough to tell that I'm not a giant dirt monster, at least. Not that my appearance matters to anyone else I come across; it really only still does to _me._

Lately, I've been feeling a bit low in the self-confidence department. It's petty if I really sit down to think about it, considering my situation, but I'm missing so many things I took advantage of on Earth—toothbrushes, hair product, a variety of clothes—and it's starting to take its toll, just like having no other humans to talk to is, as well.

Even with Wolf, Critter, and Creature to keep me company, I feel like I'm devoid of something essential. I miss the easy banter Devon and I had; the language here is still so new and convoluted, but I'm starting to have better conversations with Wolf and the other two.

Still not the same, but improving. Wolf at least doesn't seem to mind if I slip in a few English phrases here or there.

Then there's this unknown pit at the bottom of my stomach, aching and incomplete. I know without a doubt that it's the reason why I keep snapping at everyone, even Wolf, at the smallest of provocations. I just can't figure out what the fuck is _wrong_. Restless? Homesick? PMS? None of them fit and it's enough to make me crazy.

My hair is probably as untangled as it's ever going to be, so I wrap myself up in the "towel" and head for the door. It's one of the few that has an actual lock on it to provide the occupant with a rare instance of privacy; the yautja don't fully grasp modesty, but they seem to prefer practicing good hygiene in solitude.

 _All the better for me._

The door opens with a hiss when I put my hand to the pad and I jump in fright: Wolf is standing there, filling the portal. "Jesus Christ, you surprised me," I huff. "I didn't know you were waiting. Sorry if I took too long."

Though I try not to, I still tend to talk in a mix of Yaut'ja and English. The latter more so than the former.

He doesn't move out of the way when I try to slip by him. Instead, he boxes me in and closes the door behind him. I take a few steps back to compensate for his size so he won't be standing directly on top of me. He's still dressed in his, what I call, casual attire. Basically, a glorified loincloth made of a material similar to chainmail. He's not wearing his mask, either, which is a little surprising.

"Do you need something?" I ask, eyeing him suspiciously. I meant to ask casually, but that irate sharpness seeped into my question all the same.

Though he says nothing, he's still coming at me. I consider for a moment that this is some sort of surprise training session. Something along the lines of "danger can come at any time so always be ready."

But I'm so not gonna have any of that shit right now.

"Wolf—Wolf, I'm not in the mood for one of your life lessons. Can't I just have one day to fucking, relax or something?" I growl, grunting when he herds me against the far wall. I turn my back to him in a show of equal part defiance and modesty, considering I only have my towel to cover up with. I point out as much. "Wolf! I'm not even . . . I don't even have any clothes on right now, so can this wait?"

Ignoring my complaints, he's suddenly up against me with his head next to mine, pinning me to the wall with his body. He takes a deep breath and my heart starts to beat faster.

"What . . . Wolf, what the fuck are you doing?"

Finally, he speaks. His voice is huskier than normal and it sends a shiver up my spine that I can't hope to interpret.

"You are driving me insane," he says. He brushes the back of his hand against my shoulder and up to my neck, then he takes a lock of my hair in his grip and continues. "Your frustration, marching around my ship smelling like _this_ . . . ."

I grimace and say, "I know I've been in a bad mood, but I don't think beating me up in the name of training is going to make that any better." My face flushes and the instinct to escape from this awkward position is burning bright in the back of my head.

His whole hand is in my damp hair now, raking and twisting the strands with gentle movements of his fingers. The heat radiating off of him is much more stifling than usual and I can't stop the pounding of my heart, made worse when he says, "Your outbursts do not bother me. I wish only to ease your frustration."

"You mean why I'm so agitated?" I ask, trying to ignore how his proximity is making me breathless. It had to be because I was chest-first up against a wall. "I'm probably just homesick. I'll be fine, just . . . just get off me, will you?"

Wolf inhales again and I catch my breath. "No. Homesickness would not make your scent so enticing."

 _My scent?_

"I don't know what you're talking about," I insist, trying to wiggle my way out from between him and the wall. "You're being all weird. Let me go so I can finish drying off and put some clothes on, okay?"

 _He can't mean what I think he means._

There's no hope of leaving. He cages me in by planting his left hand against the wall. His right is still toying with my hair and he's bent down low enough to nuzzle the side of my head with his. I close my eyes and swallow hard. By now I'm trembling, my lips are barely parted and I'm struggling to find the right words to say.

"I think you know exactly what I am talking about, small one."

For an entirely different reason, I can't move a muscle. My mouth hangs open as I fail to remember how to speak. I don't know what to say to him, anyway. They hadn't covered this in my "so you want to travel with an alien" brochure.

"You . . . you can't be serious right now," I mutter with a humorless smile. His light scratching at my scalp elicits goosebumps down my arms. I try in vain to push against the wall and by proxy force enough space between us so I can maybe leave and forget all about this, but he is steadfast and refuses to budge.

Nothing he's doing is hurting me—in fact, if I wasn't embarrassed out of my mind I might have found the sensations pleasant. I'm stuck on what he's insinuating. What his intentions are. Despite that, he hasn't made a single unscrupulous move. So far.

When his silence spans another few rapid heartbeats full of gentle touches, I begin babbling. Anything to fill the void of conversation and maybe talk myself through this encounter. "You can't mean . . . there's no way. You . . . you're, you're you and I'm . . . well, I'm me! It's not like we could."

 _Two different kinds of aliens!_

Wolf rumbles in amusement and says, "Do not misunderstand. While we have similar and somewhat compatible anatomy, that is not yet my intention."

His words are enough to release some of the tension from my shoulders. A small, twisted weight blankets me—am I . . . disappointed? I brush the thought away, convincing myself that it can't possibly be true.

 _Wait . . . did he say "yet"?_

Wolf starts up that strange, soothing purring habit of his, his chest vibrating against my back. It's enough to distract me from the semantics I was pondering. He says, "Right now, I am only worried about your needs. It is unlikely that you would be able to satisfy me, anyway."

I bristle with indignation and let out an annoyed hiss. "Jee, thanks."

Again, he just chuckles at me. I had hope that he would move his arm and let me go now that we established he wasn't about to have his way with me, but he does no such thing and even continues playing with and stroking my hair. The harmless, occasional tugs and careful caresses are almost as soothing as his purring.

However, there was still that heat coming off of him. The room itself was already warm, but his temperature only makes mine spike as well, starting in my gut and radiating outward. His regular, burnt-sand scent was encompassing me; there was a new spice to it, causing my pulse to thunder in my ears and fill my mind with a haze. I push into him again, but with less urgency and intent than before.

"It is simply because my kind tends to perform . . . violently," he explains. "I would prefer not to hurt you, and it would be unfun if I had to concentrate on holding back."

 _Do these people really do_ everything _violently?_

"Then there's nothing to be done about it except move on. Let's pretend that none of this ever happened. I'm fine, really. I don't have _needs_." There's no real conviction in my voice and I make no actual attempt to leave— mostly because I know I can't until he lets me.

He doesn't move and my shoulders tense up again. Now he has a fistful of my hair in his hand, bunched up in one spot as he methodically massages my scalp. I haven't had anyone play with my hair since I was living with my mother, but I don't _not_ like it. It's just strange to me that he's paying so much attention to it, considering the head isn't particularly _erogenous_.

 _Maybe with them, it is._

When he speaks, he's close enough that his words brush against my ear and I shiver, stirred by his thick, husky voice. I'm starting to understand what my body's trying to tell me and my knees start to go weak. Worry mixes with embarrassment, creating a strange cocktail of emotions warring within me.

Wolf says, "Everyone has needs. If you are uncomfortable with me, I could make some calls. Perhaps there is a human male apprenticing with another clan out there."

My eyes snap open and I try to turn around in my outrage, but he adjusts to keep me in place, growling softly. He says, "Please do not make any unnecessary movements until we decide how to proceed. I cannot guarantee to maintain my composure."

I swallow and shake my head rapidly, conjuring up images of what he might mean by that—another shiver chases up my spine, making me shudder, and Wolf huffs behind me, his grip tightening on my hair, making me squeak. We stand like that for a moment, breathing harder than before, Wolf pressing against me until he finally relaxes and eases up.

At last, I dare to speak. "Absolutely not. I don't want that, some random asshole . . . _in bed_ with me. What are the chances that you'd even be able to find another human apprentice, anyway?"

He thrums thoughtfully, the vibrations in his chest deepening. "Then I would be more than happy to proceed."

Panic—and something close to excitement—rises in me and I say, "But you said that—"

"There are alternatives."

For half a second I'm lost by his meaning, but then he lets his hand drop from its place on the wall. I wonder if he's actually releasing me, but he relocates it to my leg, running his palm up the back of my thigh, around the front, insinuating his way up my towel and in toward—

I gasp and squirm, grabbing his wrist before he can reach any farther and he stops. A kind of fear finally wins and I flatten myself against the wall, holding my makeshift towel tighter around my frame. My heart is threatening to beat right out of my chest and I'm hot and flushed all over. Words tumble over one another out of my mouth.

"That's not really—can't we just—I'm fine, _really_. I don't even have a frame of reference to know what I'm missing, how could I . . . miss what I've never experienced?"

No, I was too busy cramming to speed up my hiring process in the FBI. I was focused on keeping up with the other trainees at Quantico who _didn't_ have trauma-based mental disorders and a physical disability. I was too caught up in the mission. No time for anything else.

"Humans and yautja alike have base needs and everything about the way you smell says you need a release," he murmurs, his purring intensifying as my frayed nerves come close to unraveling altogether. "We _could_ try to ride it out, but I am more than willing to accommodate you."

Clenching my eyes shut, I talk over him. "Okay! Well, how about you just leave me alone for a few hours and I'll just—I'll take care of the problem by myself? I can do that, all teenagers figure that shit out pretty early so . . . ."

He rumbles in amusement and says, "That is an option, but why do alone what you could with a willing partner?" while running his hand up my covered hip, searching for that overlapping gap between the two hems so he can slip through, his fingers brushing just below my navel, sending tremors up my spine, chased by goosebumps, lighting my skin with trails of fire.

A powerful desire is burning in my core, stealing my breath and making my limbs tremble. My legs are ready to give out, and I don't know what I want anymore. He's making me so nervous, but it's more uncertainty about the unknown than anything else.

When I find my words, I can barely speak them. "Wolf, I don't know . . . I've never . . . ."

"You do not have to do anything but relax, Nichole. We can take it slow. There will be time to worry about your lack of experience later. You are in good hands," he assures me, pulling my head against his chest. He has my hair all tangled up in his fingers—and after I spent all that time detangling it, too. Wolf continues, "I am well-known in some circles for my prowess."

At that, I can't help but roll my eyes and mutter, "You're just full of hyper-masculine cliches, aren't you?"

Wolf clicks his mandibles and they brush my bare shoulder. I flounder when he suddenly pulls me down so that we're both sitting on the floor, me between his legs with my back still against him. His hand is in my hair still, his arm pressed over my shoulder to keep me from moving too much. The other is wrapped around my side, his hand beneath my towel and his fingers slowly stroking my inner thigh. I grab his arms with my hands, digging my nails into his thick skin and squirm; he ceases all movement.

"I know you are nervous," he quietly growls in my ear. "If you want me to stop, I will."

It takes a moment for me to gather my wits, then I manage to whisper, "I don't know what I want."

He starts another bout of purring and asks, "Are you scared?"

Indignation rises within me like the tide. Such a small word: scared. Innocent enough until you realize what the connotation is within their culture. Weakness. A dishonorable emotion. One that I couldn't deny. It was a part of me, it was what drove me. Wolf told me before that my fear was what made me strong.

I can't deny it, anyway. He's already got me pegged.

All I could do was nod, the humiliation of admitting it stealing my voice. Give me _kiande amedha_ , give me giant alien beasts . . . but this?

"Of me?" he asks.

The simple enough question catches me off-guard and I turn my head enough to see him through the corner of my eyes. His expression is unreadable, but that's nothing new. His mandibles seem to be resting in a neutral position, so I have to assume he's at least more comfortable than I am.

"No, never." I exhale the words. It's the best I can do.

His tusks twitch in a pleased manner. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life." That's one question I never have to think about. I slacken the death grip I have on his arms.

Wolf purrs with content and holds me tighter to tame the worried tremors causing me to shake. His hand shifts away from my thigh and moves inward until his fingers reach their goal between my legs, methodically teasing my most vulnerable and sensitive parts. I dig my nails once again into his arm and I gasp—the aching need in my core is back, coiling like a spring.

"Then relax," he purrs, continuing his slow ministrations that make me shudder. "I will not hurt you. Quite the opposite."

Somewhat hesitant, I let go of his arms. Not completely, though, as I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands, anyway. But, I'm no longer trying hold on for dear life. He encourages me with a few soothing sounds.

It takes a moment, but eventually, I breathe and say, "Okay."

He braces my back to his chest and pushes a finger inside me. I groan and lean into him; it's as if my whole body has been electrified by a current. For the time being, I'm able to forget about my embarrassment and worry, focusing instead on these brand new waves of sensations. Wolf is stiff behind me, his own excitement presenting as a hardness pressing into my lower back. It only makes me more nervous, but that's all melting away as his pace increases.

Soon, I realize the quiet mewling is coming from me, that each stroke and caress has my hips rolling in mild waves. Wolf weighs his arm against my abdomen, trying to keep me still. His thready growls are a warning.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm," he rumbles, his voice thick, "but try to stop moving or I might accidentally hurt you."

I break out in a humiliated blush, though I'm not sure why. I was _supposed_ to be enjoying this, right? That was the whole point? He didn't have to go and point it out in such an embarrassing way, though—I jump when he hits a sensitive part of my inner walls, his finger curling with each thrust. He grunts and tugs lightly on my hair, pulling my head back to further expose my throat.

My knuckles turn white as I hold onto him. I prop my feet up against the wall in front of us, trying hard not to buck with each bolt of electricity he's sending through me, slowly building behind a damn. My breaths come in ragged gasps. Behind me, Wolf has fallen silent; even his purring has ceased. He pauses long enough to fit a second finger within me, eliciting a low moan from deep in my chest. All that fills the room is the slick sound of his fingers working me over and my needy huffing.

Then, after what seems like both forever and not long enough, the dam building inside me breaks and I gasp, my hips rock along with that wave of bliss. It seems as though I've lost all control of my body as my back arches. Without thinking, I reach up and grab a handful of Wolf's tendrils cascading over my shoulders. He goes rigid.

Just as I'm starting to come down from that fleeting high, panting and exhausted, Wolf lets out a gruff noise and heaves me up so I'm no longer sitting. I grunt as he yanks his hand free of my hair and drapes me over the side of the soaking basin. There's just enough time for me to prop myself up on the edge before he's weighing down on top of my back, nudging my legs apart with his knee.

Panic and a true tinge of dread fill me. My body prepares itself, but he's stopped moving, bent over me and breathing heavy.

"Wolf?" I whisper, almost afraid to move even as much to look at him.

After several tense heartbeats, he snarls and bolts away from me to the other side of the room. I drop down to sit back on the floor, holding a hand to my chest and watching him closely. He's facing me, his hands flexing in and out of fists. Averting my gaze, I gather my wannabe towel, left forgotten on the floor, and bundle up in it.

When he doesn't speak, I say, "Do I . . . should I . . . do you want me to . . . ?" I offer my hand, hoping the gesture would be enough to explain what I don't want to say aloud.

His tusks click in irritation and I'm not sure if it's at me. However, his voice is gentle when he says, "No. It is best if you do not touch me right now. I almost lost my faculties, and your touch would only compound that."

I put my hand down in relief. If my performance anxiety had been bad before, it would have been worse if I'd actually had to _perform_.

"Will you be okay?" I ask.

Wolf relaxes and counters with his own question. "You enjoyed yourself?"

Blushing, I look away and nod, embarrassment making me tense again. He makes an amused sound, squares his shoulders, and says, "Then I will be okay."

All I can do is mumble unintelligibly in response. I don't know how I'm going to be able to face him again after all this, but I supposed things would go back to normal eventually. Maybe after a few more times, it would be easier—

 _A few more times?_

Here I am, sitting: a nervous, embarrassed lump, thinking about not only the _next_ time but the next time _s._ Plural. I hide my hands in my face and try to ignore Wolf laughing at how red I'm probably turning in his heat-based sight.

At least I didn't speak my thoughts out loud.

The sound of his footsteps makes me look up; he's giving me a wide berth as he walks to the door to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" I ask mostly so I know where to avoid for a bit.

"The bridge. I must navigate to our next destination," he says as the door slides open. "It would be best if you stay away from there for now until I calm down. I will remain there for a time so you can roam the ship as you please."

Before he can disappear, I blurt a single question. "Why?"

He stops, his tusks clicking together in slow consideration. After a moment, he turns his head and replies, "I will need you to clarify."

Swallowing my nerves, I stare at the ground beneath me and say, "Why would you want to . . . with me . . . ? I'm human. I've seen the females of your kind, and I'm nothing like them. You even said yourself that I can't, that . . . I wouldn't be _enough_ for you."

Wolf maintains the distance between us but shifts to face me in the doorway. Even though I'm not looking up at him, I can feel his stare.

"You are not like our females physically," he says at last, "but your spirit is. Your tenacity. Your inner strength. Your ambition. You are not us, but your spirit is shaping up to be. Besides all of that, you are precious to me."

A warmth spreads through my chest and I bite on my bottom lip to stifle the girlish smile trying to take over.

"And though it would be hard on both of us as you are now, perhaps after more training you will be less fragile and able to handle me to my fullest," he growls suggestively, rolling his shoulders. I grimace and hide my face in my hands again.

Once again, he excuses himself and I mutter an incoherent acknowledgment.

I wait until the door closes behind him to lay flat on my stomach and groan loudly into the floor, trying desperately to sift through the emotions roiling within me.

* * *

 ***This will be moved to the bottom of the newest chapter. It is the index, and it will indicate which chapters are new. I'll be rearranging any additional chapters so these will be in chronological order, so the newest chapters will be indicated with an asterisk * so you know where to jump to! Remember, these one-shots are normally first drafts, basically raw. They undergo the bare minimum of edits for typos. Please feel free to leave feedback so I know if I need to go back and fine-tune something! They're meant to be quick little bite-sized stories so I write them up pretty quickly. Thank you for understanding!**

 **1\. Saboteur**

 **2\. Almost**

 **3\. Self-Preservation**

 **4\. First Impressions**

 **5\. She Stays**

 **6\. Unprecedented Initiation**

 **7\. Left Behind**

 **8\. Star-Crossed**

 **9\. Hindsight**

 **10\. Strategem**

 **11\. The Lost Files**

 **12\. One Missed Call**

 **13\. Passions**

 **14\. Limp**

 **15\. Loose Ends**

 **16\. Step by Step**

 **17\. Float**

 **18\. Pain**

 **19\. So Foreign ***


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